Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It all started with an article, on Potions Monthly of all places.

Draco could recall it even now, down to the scent of the roses that wafted through the open window, the chatter of the family of larks that had taken residence in the precarious bougainvillea which now attempted to regain its former glory and cover the western wall, the bright white shock that made his jaw actually drop.

The article was frankly absurd, something that belonged in a children’s book rather than any serious publication, the name at the top, which he had just skipped in his usual afternoon absent-mindedness, had it all click in Draco’s mind, if only for a second before the title that preceded said name made him audibly scoff.

Professor Lovegood? Merlin, Hogwarts was going to the dogs, and so was the Potions Monthly, it seemed.

Draco put the publication away with a dry chuckle, getting up and smoothing his clothes. Only Xenophilius Lovegood would sign his name under something so comically baseless, but then, what pride did the man have to uphold after all these years?

More than a former Death Eater, probably.

Draco regarded the thought with a cold distance, as if it didn’t belong to him. Almost ten years had passed since the end of the war, dulling the shame into something ever-present, like a bone mended wrong that hurt more or less as the weather turned, about which nothing could be done and, therefore, something in which there was no use dwelling.

He shot another glance at the discarded publication before leaving the library. A younger version of himself would have certainly written to Hogwarts tearing into McGonagall for that absurdity, the school couldn’t possibly be so out of options as to hire Xenophilius Lovegood, but, then again, what was it to him? Draco knew better than fussing now, it was best to live in peace, detached from all that, and to focus entirely on the only thing that still mattered.

“Maman?” He knocked lightly on the doorframe, and his mother looked up from the embroidery in her hands, her eyes eager.

How he hated that.

“Oui?” There was a breathlessness to her voice.

“Would you like to have tea in the garden? The weather is nice.”

Draco hated himself for breaking her heart again each time, and, heaven forgive him, he almost hated her for expecting the same news every time, forcing him to disappoint her over and over again, every day, every time they spoke.

A part of him would like to avoid her altogether, avoid that flash of pain in her eyes each time he came find her without the words she was so desperate to hear, but that was a ridiculous notion, whatever his flaws, Draco was still a man, and Maman was a lady of his family, it was his responsibility to make sure she had all the comfort she might possibly need, even if it came in the form of them spending time together, even if he loved her so much that disappointing her was slowly eating away at whatever heart he might claim to have.

“That sounds fantastic, mon étoile.” She smiled at him, adopting a more subdued version of that initial hopefulness, and Draco hated himself for resenting her for it.

Let her have that, let her have whatever can bring her any comfort.

“I’ll see that Poppy sets it there, then.” He replied, forcing a smile of his own.

The garden was coming back to life with a vengeance, as if Maman had infused it with her own imposing hope, and, in a way, it was possible that her magic did naturally infuse the earth with her desire to see the garden back to its former glory, or perhaps it was just that the period of abandonment had allowed the soil to replenish its nutrients and the first blooms in a decade were reaping the benefits of that rest.

Soon, Poppy was rushing over, trays and china floating by her side as she hobbled on her long-wounded legs.

If only she would consent to have them call a healer about it.

Draco minded himself to keep his jaw from clenching, it was enough that Poppy allowed him to make her potions for the pain. She regarded those ill-healed wounds as some sort of badge of honour, a sign that she wouldn’t ever forget any wrong on her part, she was a good house elf like that.

It made Draco want to throw up, and he hoped that wherever the Averys were, they were still too poor to afford a new house elf, though he wouldn’t bet on that, given how much they had charged him for her.

“Poppy is sorry!” She whined. “Poppy only just saw Master Malfoy! Poppy should tear her eyes out, they’re good for nothing.”

“Poppy should absolutely not do that, it would displease me immensely,” Draco sighed. “I’m early.”

She set the tea on the table with mumbled apologies before hobbling back into the house, and he watched her go regretfully. It had been the sight of that limp, along with the house elf’s sheer squalor, that had set his mind on taking her out of the Avery household, who in the aftermath of the war were, luckily, impoverished enough to sell their only house elf.

It was not like Draco was a competent housekeeper anyway, and he wouldn’t dare asking Narcissa Malfoy to throw a cleaning charm at any rug he didn’t want incinerated, so it had been a matter of convenience, really, more for their sake than for the poor elf’s.

“It’s good that you had this idea, étoile,” Maman praised, smiling as she studied the lark nest in the magenta-coloured bougainvillea. “The garden is looking superb, isn’t it? Ah, Papa will love to spend the time here, I hope we have a long summer this year, the open air will do him good.”

There it was.

“Oui, Maman.” He replied automatically, trying to hold on to the quiet pleasure of the blossoming garden and not let the conversation ruin his mood.

The recent abolishing of life sentences in Wizarding Europe meant Papa’s sentence would have to be reviewed in the light of the new legislation, and, for Maman, that could only mean Lucius Malfoy would be coming home any day now.

Draco had that to thank for the sudden revitalization of their gardens, the dozens of new little trinkets, tablecloths, and kerchiefs embroidered by Maman herself to cheer the place up, and for that hopeful look on her face anytime he sought her out, as if she was expecting the letter from their lawyer at any moment. He was quite sure that the whisper of an owl’s wings would be capable of drawing Narcissa Malfoy from the depths of any sleep.

It killed him to hear the excitement in her voice, unbreakable, even as each morning passed without an owl. She kept gardening, embroidering, and to all ends nesting, readying the house like Papa would be walking through those doors any minute now, and Draco hated his marrow for wondering if perhaps the Black family madness wasn’t starting to creep up on her, but if the alternative was that shell of a woman she had been reduced to after the war, Draco would happily have her cover every centimetre of the Manor in embroidered cushions and every patch of their estate in roses, jasmines and tulips, never mind that not being able to secure what she wanted the most was wearing him down to the bone.

Draco would rather he be hollow than Maman.

But that evening, as he stalled to get ready for dinner, Draco eyed the Potions Monthly article on his desk, sneering at the idiocy of the whole thing. It was on nights like this that he could feel the frayed edges of his temper, the exhaustion of picking up the scraps and carrying whatever remained of the Malfoy family on his shoulders making him so irritable that he was scared of lashing out at Poppy or Maman.

It was on nights like this that the prospect of having something or someone to lash out on was just too tempting to resist.

Draco grinned as he scanned the April edition of the Potions Monthly and found his own article published there. Many things might have changed, but Draco Malfoy still knew his potions, and that article might well put an end to all that nonsense of intuitive brewing Lovegood was trying to push.

Intuitive brewing. It sounded like a dumb way to find oneself scattered all over a laboratory.

Intuitive brewing.

He scoffed, rereading his own article, defending the need for precision in the science of potion-making, and smirking pleased when there was not a typo to be found, neither anything he’d rather see changed.

Draco looked at the clouds drifting by, the freshly-indulged malicious side of him fantasizing about sending that article to McGonagall, along with some quick-witted playful teasing about the state of the school body. He fancied that the owl that glided over Malfoy estate before flying in would be carrying a reply from the headmistress, inquiring after his health and acknowledging that the situation was indeed far from ideal, which was a shame, there had been no potions master half decent since Sev, but wait, wasn’t Draco his favourite pupil? Hadn’t he gotten all Os in his years as a student? Oh, they should have a cup of tea, it had been so long. Of course, McGonagall, important man as I am, I will always have time for a cup of tea with such a distinguished lady.

The owl dropped the letter on his lap and tugged at his cufflink, pulling him out of his reverie, and Draco felt his entire body grow cold as he recognized the handwriting in the address.

He tore at the wax seal, not bothering with procuring a letter opener, his hands shaking as he read the letter once, twice, three times, trying to make sure he was reading it right, that it wasn’t some cruel joke, before leaping to his feet and dashing down the corridor.

“Maman! Maman!”

Chapter Text

Draco snapped the first quill he picked up, swiping it out of the desk with a groan before reaching for another one.

Disengaged from the practical realities of brewing? Disengaged from- he would show that half-mad wanker. As soon as he managed to write steadily and coherently, he would tell Lovegood a thing or two about the practical realities of brewing.

He scribbled down a draft of a reply, riddled with language better suited to a pub than to an article. It didn’t matter, he would refine the thing a dozen times over before submitting it, but, for now, he needed to get it out of his system.

A door banged shut somewhere in the Manor and Draco dropped his quill mid-aggravation, leaping to his feet even before the screaming began. He sprinted thorough the halls of his house, flying past Maman to find Papa pressed into the corner of the room, his eyes wide and unseeing, yelling things that made no sense.

That happened all the time, the littlest thing would set him off and he would start screaming, or would shut down completely, and there was little that could be done, for all they tried.

“Papa, it’s me,” Draco pleaded, despite the probable uselessness of it. “You’re home, see?”

There was no convincing Lucius Malfoy once the episodes started, but what were they supposed to do? Just leave him there? They had to try something, anything, if only not to feel so absolutely useless.

There was a gush of wind and Lucius snapped his head towards the windows that opened under the aim of Maman’s wand. She stepped away casually, as if nothing was amiss, and sat down at the piano stool, letting Rachmaninoff fill the silence created by the ceasing of Papa’s screaming.

Draco watched for a few moments as the tension started to ease off of his father’s shoulders. Papa didn’t move, but he no longer seemed frozen in place, it was more like he was unsure how to move from there, or even whether he could.

“I’ll fetch a potion for your stress.” Draco kept his voice low and even, almost too casual, as if that screaming was a perfectly ordinary response to some bother at the Ministry and they were still the proud and respected Malfoy family with everything to hope for, instead of a disgraced family of Death Eaters held together only by the sheer devotion that Maman inspired.

Draco sought refuge in his laboratory, letting the familiarity of the rituals soothe him, channelling all of his mind to the measurements, the speed of the stirring, the time, counted in breaths and heartbeats. This was brewing, steady, reliable, precise, unfaltering – even if those lavender stems were a touch too thin, he’d suggest Maman plant some lavender in the property if he could still remember it by dinner – it was a science, it ought to be studied and respected, not intuited.

The door opened, the breeze moving his notes further down the table as he counted his stirs and Draco turned back, blind with fury.

“Merlin’s saggy ballsack!”

Maman stood in the door, eyes wide and Draco felt his fury drain away, his face heating up in embarrassment. What was he doing? He had gotten so carried away, what if it had been Papa? What if he had caused another episode then?

“Pardon-”¹

“I should have-”

“Je suis desolé,² Maman-”

“It’s alright,” Maman swallowed, bringing the smile back to her face. “We’ll be having supper in the solarium tonight, it looks like rain and… Desolée, étoile, I should have knocked.”

Draco reflexively ran his hair back from his face.

“It’s alright, Maman. Solarium, then.” He agreed.

“Oui.”

Maman lingered there a moment longer before retreating, and Draco pressed his forehead to the wall, letting the cool stone ground him before he undertook the discarding of his ruined potion and subsequent restart of the whole process. Perhaps this one would do the trick, and Papa would take to it, so he’d be able to brew a batch and store it away instead of scrambling trough books and notes everyday for a new option.

He looked at the bubbling cauldron with a sneer of disgust plastered to his face. Intuitive brewing- how was it possible if the smallest disruption was enough to ruin an hour of work? There was nothing intuitive about potion making, to say otherwise would be to disrespect the witches and wizards that had devoted their lives to perfecting that science, there were variations, of course, an array of methods and techniques, but there was no intuition to them, they were all catalogued and studied and described-

Draco pulled a piece of parchment, vanishing the ruined potion with a wave of his hand. A part of him knew he was taking his anger and frustration out on that poor madman Lovegood, but he had to take it out somehow, it wouldn’t do to walk around the Manor bursting at the seams with it, in the best case he’d end up terrorising Poppy, in the worst case he might snap at Maman or trigger another episode from Papa, and, honestly, if the man had the face to reply to his article, then he’d probably do well to expect a response, it wasn’t personal, really.

It became personal when the blasted nutter had the face to write to him directly. The church-owl flew in one early June morning bearing a letter addressed to him in a hasty scrawl that, now that he thought about it, suited the writer’s incongruent mind admirably.

And he even had the nerve to congratulate Draco on his birthday!

Draco was equal parts furious and ecstatic because while that might be the most vexing man he had ever argued with – and he had argued with his fair share of loonies in his life – the perspective of a free outlet to all his unpleasant emotions, without the need to wait a whole month for the reply, was exhilarating.

“Off with you,” he shood the owl who had started pulling a heavy-headed rose from a vase for no apparent reason other than being a nuisance. “You’re ruining Maman’s rose, you stupid bird.”

The owl looked indignantly at him, but Draco chose to ignore it in favour of sitting down with his letter, letting it stoke that fire of outrage in his heart, the hours of research to disprove each dumb claim, the writing, the reviewing, it was all a welcome – more than welcome – distraction from his problems.

It felt wrong that he was still acting as head of family with Papa back home, just down the hall, but Lucius Malfoy was barely holding himself together ever since he returned from prison, so it fell to Draco to oversee the family’s investments and revenue, the protective wards, the updating of titles in their library and everything that would have once fallen to his father.

More than that, with Maman entirely dedicated to reestablishing her husband’s health, the duties of Lady Malfoy now fell to him as well, and Draco found himself writing correspondence to other pureblood families, going over the food reserves and meal plans with Poppy, noting down the necessary reparations to their home, and caught up in an infinitude of little chores that ended up filling all of his day.

But this, the academic massacre of that barmy Lovegood, this belonged to Draco and Draco alone.

He picked up a quill, leaning forward over the coffee table, ready to make notes on the letter, the competitiveness in him urging Draco to enact the most thorough humiliation possible.

Marlin, this was going to be so good.

“Send Poppy for me if you remember anything, oui?” Draco insisted, trying to convey the message to Maman through a look alone.

“Stop fretting and just go.” Papa drawled from his place on the armchair, not fooled by his performance.

He had only just found a draught that seemed to widen the intervals between episodes and was now off to Diagon Alley to buy the ingredients in bulk. The Malfoys trusted Poppy with most of the shopping for the household, but when it came to his potion ingredients, Draco was very, very, particular, and that was what had him transfiguring his hair to a dull brown and changing his features to avoid recognition, which had been met with a scowl from Papa.

It wasn’t that he was a coward, but he could do without the name calling and the service denial- Well, maybe he was a coward, but it was so seldom that any of them left the Manor these days, was it so bad that he wanted that trip to go as uneventfully as possible?

The floo took him straight to the Leaky Cauldron, and, despite the charms, Draco kept his head down as he made his way out into the bustling Diagon Alley, and only then it occurred him that it was August.

He supressed a groan, heading towards Obscurus, since Flourish and Blotts seemed to be overtaken by all the students buying their Hogwarts textbooks. Maybe it would make more sense to just shoot straight for the apothecary, but he needed new books and, more than that, needed time away from the tension of the manor. Draco had been confined to the grounds for months now, he would take as much fresh air as he could before going back to his seclusion, even if that meant braving the hordes of students gearing up for their return to Hogwarts.

Obscurus was blooming with sixth and seventh-years and their parents, but still less crowded than Flourish, and Draco could take his time examining the volumes on potion-making, cutting his final selection down to three. Sev had always insisted he read the classics, but they weren’t helping him out of his impasse with Lovegood, and Draco had decided he needed more material.

It seemed that Maman was right, when Draco vented to her about the article battle and how hard it was to counter Lovegood’s sheer absurdity, she had replied that it was always harder arguing with an idiot because they lack even the common sense to comprehend their idiocy, and that was exactly how Draco felt about that whole ordeal.

Lovegood’s notions were so profoundly ridiculous that he had a hard time even starting to debunk the man.

Draco paid for his new books and left with a quiet thanks, heading to the apothecary next. There was no way of escaping the flood of students there, both apothecaries were brimming with parents and children, so Draco steeled himself and sneaked through the gaps, accepting that whatever shop he managed to get into first would have his business today.

Luckily enough, the student rush meant Slug & Jiggers had rotated their whole inventory and everything was fresh, albeit absurdly priced. Draco made his selection, fighting the desire to hex the pale hand that managed to snatch the last bottle of bezoars from his very fingertips.

“Hey, what’s your prob-” He froze as his eyes, scanning the silhouette upwards, met a moonlit gaze.

“I need these.” The reply was delivered in that dreamy, siren-like, voice.

“Loony?” He cringed internally the moment the cruel nickname left his lips, but she just smiled.

“It’s good to see you, it has been a while.” She replied, and Draco froze in place. “Oh, no, don’t worry, your charms are still in place.”

That explained nothing about how Loony seemed to have recognized him, but the inexplicable was commonplace with that girl. Or woman, he supposed, the years since the war had filled her out some more, the once tangled rope of dirty blond hair had given way to brassy waves carelessly rolled up, held in place by a pencil, with stray strands framing a pale face that had lost that childhood plumpness and now looked sharp and faerie-like.

“Professor Lovegood!” A youthful voice called out, and Loony turned with a smile, securing his bottle of bezoars as a Gryffindor kid rushed to her. “Professor, hi! My mum is here, I- I want you to meet her, is that alright?”

The woman’s lips bloomed into a dreamy smile.

“I’d like that very much, Wood.”

Even though so much had changed, Loony’s voice still sounded like an airy call beckoning sailors to their death.

“Are you Professor Lovegood?” Draco couldn’t help betraying his shock, but the witch just turned that smile at him, looking slightly confused with a line between her eyebrows.

“Of course, we’ve been arguing the best part of two seasons.” She replied as if it was obvious.

She knew for a fact who he was then.

“I thought it was your father.” Draco explained weakly.

Loony shrugged, stepping back.

“My father doesn’t know when your birthday is.”

Draco opened his mouth to reply but then closed it again. Well, that was fair, but, to be honest, he didn’t imagine Loony would have known it either. His eyes went to her shopping basket and he scanned the items.

Professor Lovegood. It didn’t sound so comical now, and perhaps that in itself was somewhat absurd.

“I should go now, don’t forget to write me a scathing letter before the end of the week, I’ve come to look forward to them,” she smiled at him again. “I’m sure it’ll be even better arguing in person once the term starts.”

“What?” Draco frowned, his head straining to keep up with Loony’s usual… loony-ness.

“Didn’t Minerva send your letter yet?” She tilted her head over her shoulder, not bothering to wait for a reply before walking away with a chirping farewell. “See you at Hogwarts, Professor!”

Chapter Text

The Staff Room was comfortable in the way only Hogwarts could be, that is, in a way in which a patchwork of furniture, silverware, china and decoration spanning over a thousand years somehow came together to create a feeling of home that could never be quite recreated anywhere else.

Draco stepped out of the massive Tudor-style fireplace, adjusting his robes as he looked around the room, cataloguing, as he always did, the windows, doors, exits, and hiding spots.

“Oh, you’re here!” The familiar voice caught his attention, making him look towards his left. “Always precisely on time.”

Draco smirked, trying to hide his uneasiness with confidence.

“Professor McGonagall,” he took the headmistress’ hand and bowed over it with a light kiss that made the woman chuckle.

“And well mannered. I believe an official welcome is in order, Professor Malfoy,” she stepped aside, gesturing at the charming room. “This is our little sanctuary, we all have our own rooms adjacent to our classrooms, of course, but this is a place where we can remember we’re humans before we’re teachers, there are chess tables, some fascinating muggle board games, the billiards table, and a few books.” McGonagall folded her arms behind her back, like a general examining a camp. “You may find out that within our career spending some leisure time among other adults sometimes is the only thing keeping us from St. Mungus’ Mental Ward.”

Draco couldn’t help chuckling at that, half out of humour, which he wasn’t used to seeing in McGonagall, and half out of nervousness.

“If there is anything you need, don’t hesitate to let me know,” the elderly witch turned her eyes towards him with a warm expression. “It’s good to have you back, Draco.”

Draco nodded, thanking her quietly as she gave him the key to the room that would be his home for the rest of the schoolyear, down in the familiar setting of the dungeons, the school’s oldest area, safe, strong, capable of withstanding centuries, a nest made of stones where only a snake would feel comfortable and at ease.

Draco walked out, having been informed that supper would be served in the Staff Room at seven, which gave him plenty of time to waltz around the strangely silent castle halls. He assumed it would feel more like the Hogwarts he knew once the students arrived in a few days, but until then he would appreciate that time to reacquaint himself with the beloved patchwork that was the castle, a mosaic of medieval roman, gothic, Tudor, all the way to Edwardian, the place where he had spent so much of his boyhood, a place he had betrayed-

That wasn’t worth thinking about, he was here now, ready to pay the debt, to give back to Hogwarts. The letter had been on the tray in his study when he came home from Diagon Alley that evening, and seeing the Hogwarts crest in maroon wax felt like being eleven all over again, all the excitement, the blood roaring in his ears. Loony had been serious then, McGonagall had written inquiring about his availability to take a position as Potions professor, which was odd considering that Loony – he should really get used to thinking about her as Professor Lovegood if that was going to work – was already Potions Master there.

McGonagall clarified then that the number of students had increased and it would be best to have someone teaching years one to four so that Loo-vegood could focus on the advanced classes.

That was him. Draco Lucius Malfoy would be back at Hogwarts to play second fiddle to Loon- Lovegood.

In another life he would never have considered that, not even as a passing thought. He would have laughed in McGonagall’s face, taken the floo home and written to schoolboard, Ministry and The Daily Prophet about the declining quality of the education at Hogwarts, seen how she liked that, but that was a life in which he had the Malfoy pride to protect.

In this life, the Malfoy pride was as good was what fed the plants in Maman’s garden.

Maman had embraced the idea at once, even without knowing all the details – Draco couldn’t bring himself to admit that he would rank below Lovegood – she had argued it would be good for him to spend some time away from the Manor, talk to people, put his mind to work, and that the young Wizarding folk of Britain deserved a proper professor, something that his colleague was clearly not.

Draco had spent three sleepless nights tortured, dying to accept the placement, as humiliating as it was, dreaming of being far from the Manor, but he had responsibilities now, he couldn’t just drop everything and run off to Hogwarts like a child.

He said so to Maman one afternoon over tea, prompting Papa, who had become even more withdrawn ever since coming home, to get up from his chair and stalk to where Draco sat with seven hissed words. “I am the head of House Malfoy.”

That had put an end to it, Draco couldn’t insist without risking offending his father, he had the perfect excuse to just run, even though he had told Maman, in secrecy, to call him back if they needed him at home at any point, kids be damned.

The potions classroom was the same as it had always been, but at the same time, not quite so. There were new lockers and gadgets, and the whole place had a sterile air to it where it had once been ever permeated with a lingering scent of everything. A low thrum reverberated on the stone floor, stronger as he approached the end of the classroom and the door to the private accommodations beyond.

Draco tried to use the key, only to find that the door was already unlocked, so he opened it and was greeted by an uncanny symphony of ineffable beauty and the sight of Loony – he would get a hold of it, but she did not look professorial at the moment – hanging upside-down from a broom, her knees hooked over the staff, vandalizing the wall of an already headache-inducing sitting room.

“Hello, Draco.” Her smile seemed even more maddening from that point of view.

“What are you doing?” He heard himself asking, because that was the only thing in his mind at the moment.

Lo-vegood let go of the broom, landing with a flip that made some paint splash on her face.

“I paint the room sometimes,” she offered, as if that merited no explanation whatsoever. “But I’m leaving your half of it for you to decorate as you like.”

His half of it. There were two potions professors and one sitting room, that should make sense to anyone with basic knowledge of arithmetic, yet the notion of sharing quarters had never occurred to him and that might be thanks to one simple fact:

Lovegood was a woman.

Draco scanned the room as she put the palette down, leaving it floating in the air along with the paintbrush.

“Your bedroom is behind that door,” Lovegood pointed with a paint-speckled hand. “Mine is the one to the left, so the door in that corner is the bathroom, and before you say anything I know it would look better in the middle, but the plumbing is what the plumbing is, so welcome to the potions common room, I suppose.”

Draco resisted the urge to run a hand through his hair. He would be sharing quarters with a woman, he would be sharing a bathroom with a woman, what sort of dreadful things could he expect? Whatever the number was, it was probably worth doubling on account of that woman being Loony Bloody Lovegood.

“Will you be in here a lot?” He asked stupidly.

Where else, Merlin, would the potions master be if not in her- their room?

“How do you quantify ‘a lot’?” She chuckled at his imbecility. “I’m here sometimes, planning lessons, grading papers or hiding from society, other times I’ll be in my bedroom, or the library, or the Professors’ Room. I don’t think I spend a lot of time here, but if you’re used to solitude I assume you’ll think otherwise.”

Draco looked over his colleague, clad in muggle denim and a long-sleeved blouse with a prism on the front.

“Why can’t you just be normal? Aren’t you 26 or something, why are you covered in paint?” He hissed, flustered.

Some part of him regretted the words immediately, but it was impossible to act like himself around Loony, it was like her madness rubbed off on him and he ended up unable of performing socially and next thing he knew he had voiced whatever thought was in his head, even if it was an abhorrent one like that.

“I’m sorry-”

“Autism.”

The frown returned to his face.

“What is that?” He asked quietly, making an effort to analyse the words before they left his mouth.

“A different wiring of the brain, or something of that sort. The muggles know more about it than wizards, I was told it’s not so common in women, but I got diagnosed in college.”

Draco blinked, trying to assimilate the information.

“Your brain is wired different then?”

“Something like that,” she shrugged. “So if you’re going to insult me you’d better be clear about it, otherwise you’re going to be very frustrated, I don’t really get the whole talking in riddles thing, but you probably already figured that out from those failed bullying attempts back then.”

Draco felt his face burn, shocked at how casually she mentioned what he had attempted to put her through in their time as students.

“So if I wanted to insult you covertly I’d just need to be the slightest touch subtle?” He found himself asking because he was apparently a complete tosser.

Lovegood nodded, her face not betraying any emotion other than mild entertainment.

“Yes, but everyone would probably think you’re an arsehole, we are, as you put it, over 26.”

Draco felt himself blush up to the tips of his ears.

“It was just a theoretical question.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“Are you being sarcastic?”

Lovegood chuckled, her moonlit eyes glittering with amusement at him very much playing the idiot.

“No, I’m not. No riddles, ok?”

Draco sighed, feeling somewhat overwhelmed by the interaction and all the information, and at the same time at ease with the simplicity of communication that one rule entailed.

“No riddles, got it.” He mumbled, more to himself than to her, rubbing his nape before looking up at the painted section of the sitting room. “The autism thing, is that why you… paint the room?”

Lovegood frowned, seeming to give it some thought.

“Maybe. I like painting, but perhaps I wouldn’t do it if I cared for the implicit societal rule I seem to have violated by doing so.”

Draco opened his mouth to reply, but then closed it again. What was the rule about painting the sitting room wall? No one but Loony would have done it because it was weird. Why was it weird?

He let out a sigh, pushing the thought from his mind before he gave himself a headache with it.

“Merlin.”

Lovegood pointed her wand at the record player and the unearthly symphony stopped.

“Do you prefer working late in the night or early in the morning?” She asked quietly.

“I don’t usually stay up late.” Draco replied, thankful for the easier subject.

“I’ll have the laboratory for the nights then, don’t worry, I’ll make sure it’s all clean and tidy for you in the morning.”

He nodded, the tension starting to ease.

“Thank you, Lovegood.”

He should have known that being a professor at Hogwarts wouldn’t be so easy, nothing in life was ever easy. It wasn’t the lesson planning that gave him trouble, he had access to Sev’s plans for all years and had compared them with his own notes from his time as student, contrasting what his mentor had intended to teach and how much of it he had actually learned and making an exercise of explaining each topic three different ways to the mirror, trying to cover the student spectre from rather dull to absolutely brilliant.

He had been looking forward to it, thrilled at the chance to put his plans to practice, but by the time the Sorting Ceremony ended, there were already mutterings behind hands, or even out in the open – bless Gryffindor they were still as savage as he recalled – and the joke about a “Death Eater Quota” in the school body had been repeated a dozen times by Tuesday afternoon, when a second-year Ravenclaw finally gathered the courage to raise his hand in class and ask if he was truly a Death Eater.

Draco had wanted to vomit, cry, lash out at the kid, but instead he did what Sev would probably have done in his place and assigned the whole class a thorough description of the properties of bugs eyes and which of them justified the usage of that ingredient in the five potions in which they’d be using it this term.

That seemed to have dissuaded them from further inquiring on his past, but the uneasiness festered over the rest of the afternoon and when he got back into the Potions Common Room after dinner and found Loony trying to balance a jar of dragonfly thoraxes on a stirring rod, it was just too much to bear.

“Bloody hell are you doing?”

“Balancing these.”

“Why?”

“I felt like it.”

“Is this some intuitive bulls-” he cut himself before he could say something uncivil.

“I’d say so, yes.” Lovegood replied, her unbothered demeanour stoking his anger.

“My-” he groaned, snatching the jar from her hands and looking at the contents. “Have you considered it’ll be that much faster if you figure out the gravity centre?”

“Are you going to calculate the mass of the jar and items inside rather than just assuming it’s in the middle of the bottom and correcting from there?” She lifted a sandy eyebrow at him.

“If you want to try and error the night away then by all means have it your way, but if I do it, I’ll have it right in one try because that’s how actual bloody science works!” Draco grumbled, analysing the jar in his hands.

“Go ahead.” Lovegood leaned back on the carpet.

He pierced her eyes with a glare, but there was no trick there, no riddles, as she’d say, so he sat down on the rug, pulled a piece of parchment from the coffee table, and acciod his scale. Loony even had the nerve of offering him the pencil that held her hair up, letting the glowing waves cascade down over her right shoulder.

Draco might as well try her hair potions one of these days, it wasn’t like they didn’t smell amazing – curiosity had gotten the best of him before the end of the first week sharing a bathroom with a woman.

Lovegood crossed her legs under her and kept those unnerving eyes on him as he tried to make the calculations.

“Is this entertaining to you?” He mumbled sourly some time into the task, when her moonlit eyes made him mess up the figures yet again.

“I’m eager to be proven wrong.” She replied, sounding amused.

“Some Ravenclaw you are.” Draco grumbled.

“That’s a very Slytherin way of thinking.”

“Why, thank you.”

A pause. Good, those figures made sense now.

“That was sarcasm.” He clarified.

“I had an inkling it might be.”

“You can comprehend sarcasm then.”

“Yes, Draco, I can comprehend one of the most basic forms of humour in human communication.” Lovegood sounded like she was smiling that dreamy smile again. “That is, if I know the person well enough to have learned their patterns of speech.”

“You sound awfully scientific for someone who brews on fu-” He caught himself, cutting the swearing to a hiss when his grand attempt of balancing the jar had to be corrected slightly to the left and then up. “HA!”

He was quite sure the jar stood there for a moment before tipping to the side.

“That was three tries.” Loony pointed out infuriatingly.

“I could bet you had been here for well over three tries by the time I got in.”

“You’re correct.” She conceded.

There was another long pause as Draco ran over his calculations, trying to find out where he had gone wrong.

“Do you know why you didn’t get it right on the first try?” Lovegood’s voice interrupted his thinking again. “That would have been nearly impossible, you’d need to know the weight of each piece in the jar, the density of the glass across the entire surface, and then count on the pieces not dislocating as you moved to balance them. One tilt and all your calculations would have been rendered obsolete. That’s what I meant by telling you you’re disengaged from the practical realities of brewing, there’s not controlling all the variables.”

Draco’s eyes snapped up at her and he opened his mouth to reply, taking an embarrassingly long moment to find his footing in the argument.

“You’re saying that I should calculate more then, not less, you’re not making the point you think you’re making.” He finally retorted.

“With the time it would take for you to go through all of those calculations I’d probably manage to balance it intuitively before you were done, or not long after, and which of us would have had more fun with it? Though I admit exercising the mind like that can be quite fun if that’s what you’re after.”

Draco huffed, trying once again to balance the jar, barely managing to catch it before it hit the floor and why on earth was he sitting on the rug competing with Lovegood about balancing a jar of-

“Fun? Is Potion-making about having fun to you?”

“Isn’t it to you?” She tilted her head like he was the one acting absurdly.

“Of course not! It’s about results!”

“We’ve established that the result would have been similar enough.”

Draco got up, sputtering in outrage and why, Merlin, did Lovegood sound like she was actually making sense?

“You’re infuriating!” He snarled, turning to his bedroom before he felt the need to clarify. “I don’t dislike you, but you are a vexing woman.”

Lovegood chuckled, that dreamy smile spreading on her face.

“I don’t dislike you either, Draco, challenge me anytime you feel like it.”

Damn it!

Chapter Text

Common sense would have led Draco to the conclusion that the professors, as most adults, liked to have one too many drinks every now and then, and it made perfect sense that, as colleagues, they would have their own pre-Yuletide gathering once most of the students went home for the holidays.

That being established, the theory of their humanity couldn’t possibly have prepared him for the sight of McGonagall and Sprout locked in a drinking contest under the careful – and thankfully sober – watch of Pomfrey, prompted by the challenge “You may be Scottish, but I’m bigger”, which seemed to have managed to awake every Gryffindor fibre in the headmistress.

“You’re worse than the students sometimes, I swear!” The matron tried to scold them, uselessly, and Draco chuckled, watching the unbelievable development from a sofa where he rested upon the laurels of a recent exploding snap triumph over Slughorn.

He was light-headed enough already, and, to save his pride from the indignity of getting actually drunk in front of his former professors and current colleagues, had resigned to nursing a glass of eggnog, despite the fact that, from the looks of it, proper bearing wasn’t exactly being held in high regard tonight.

Draco smiled to himself, trying to imagine what Sev would be doing at a party like that, before being forced to accept that his late mentor was more likely to skip the event altogether in favour of spending a quiet evening in his laboratory, Severus Snape had never been one to socialize much, not even at their quieter parties in Malfoy Manor, and certainly not at rowdier gatherings like that.

“Uno!” Lovegood announced, placing a card and then another on the pile before her and getting up in one graceful movement, taking her empty eggnog mug to the coffee table.

“It’s your fault for wasting that +4 on me!” Flitwick protested.

“Last time I play with bloody birdbrains.” Hooch mumbled, tossing her cards, which comprised most of the deck, down.

“No, it’s not, you’re far too competitive to accept defeat, I’m sure you’ll come up with some grand strategy over the holidays.” Lovegood teased, her dreamy siren voice lending a chiming quality to her laugh, and her eyes met Draco’s. “Do you want to leave so we can go at it before your bedtime?”

That had the effect of sending Sprout’s drink flying straight from her mouth to McGonagall’s chest, and Draco felt his face draining of all colour for a moment before burning in what was probably the most undignified shade of red.

“Loony, you couldn’t have phrased this worse if you tried.” He mumbled, closing his eyes in utter mortification, not before catching a glimpse of Flitwick holding a plump hand up and McGonagall starting to fumble her pockets.

“What?” Lovegood sounded blissfully oblivious, but she must have seen the reaction of their esteemed colleagues, because she soon grasped the idea. “Oh, was that another accidental innuendo situation?”

“Accidental?” Flitwick lamented, and Draco opened his eyes in time to see McGonagall snatch a sugar quill back from his hand with a victorious gaze.

“Draco likes to fight over potion-making to relieve the stress before sleep, that’s all.” Lovegood explained, looking very amused by their antics. “Did you have a bet over- oh, Filius, frankly!” She chided her Head of House playfully.

Draco couldn’t decide whether he was more appalled at the realization that Lovegood was indeed privy to his shameful stress-relief tactic of lashing out at her, or at the fact that there seemed to be a clandestine gamble involving caramels and speculations about the two of them.

“Frankly, indeed.” McGonagall triumphed, holding out her hand as Flitwick searched his pockets.

“We can’t gamble on the students, you fledglings are all we have left.” He defended, placing a pack of shrieking sherbets on the witch’s outstretched hand. “It’s not that risky a gamble either, two good-looking young people-”

“I should probably go to bed now.” Draco got up, wondering if the Charms Master intended to find out what it would take for the sheer force of his embarrassment to break down the wards and let him apparate away.

“Stop that, Filius, Draco is too dignified to think this is funny.” Lovegood’s voice lost some of that playfulness, and Flitwick put his tiny goblinish hands up in surrender.

“Fine, fine.”

She escorted Draco out, having seemingly decided to retire with him, which he felt equal parts grateful and mortified for, especially when the door closed behind them on Sprout yelling an encouraging “Go at it!”.

There were no words exchanged on their way down to the dungeons, but that was likely for the best, the few remaining students were supposed to be in bed, meaning that the Gryffindors were most likely all around the castle now, and he’d rather not discuss his actions or those of their colleagues anywhere the tiny gossips could hear it.

It wasn’t that the potions master lacked appeal in any way, in fact, Lovegood’s nonchalance and overall goodness of heart were quite refreshing and Draco would be surprised if a number of men didn’t find her allure irresistible, plus, she wasn’t at all unpleasant to look at, with those hypnotic moon eyes set on a face of ethereal beauty, in fact, with her hair down in the mornings, Lovegood was a Mucha painting in muggle clothing, more so with the way she walked on the balls of her feet, like she might start dancing without notice or reason, which, now that he thought about it, she might very well do.

Not that Draco fancied her, if anything, he had taken to watching her like people watch exotic birds, for purely platonic appreciation, after all, all things considered, they were so different that the idea of them having a personal liaison was laughable to say the least, nothing about that match made any sense, they were opposites in every aspect, from their approach to the subject of potions to wall art and everything else in life, even their schedules were opposite.

He finally gathered the courage to look at Lovegood once they reached their shared classroom, only to find that the witch seemed entirely unbothered by the whole thing as she let herself drop on the sofa of their common room, pulling a thick duvet over herself and accioing a sort of muggle contraption to her hands.

“Ginny gave me this as an early Yuletide gift so that I can listen to my music without disturbing you, it’s called iPod.” She explained, misreading the confusion on his face. “Muggle devices don’t always get along with magic, but she had Arthur tune this so the interference should be minimal, he was thrilled about it.” Lovegood propped herself up on her elbows. “But I’m open to fighting over potions if you want, I have the whole night to listen to music.”

Draco frowned at the device, the alcohol in his mind making it a bit challenge to catalogue all the information he had been dealt.

“Ginny… You mean Ginevra Weasley?”

“Yes.” She felt no need to elaborate on that.

“She knew you wanted to get a muggle music device for Yuletide?” The idea that Weasley had known what to give Lovegood and he still had no inkling of a suitable gift soured his mood.

The witch shrugged, oblivious to his struggle.

“Not specifically a muggle music device, but I wrote to her about how frustrating it is that the silencing charms all leak the vibrations and I missed having my music to work at night.” She paused, keeping her eyes on his, like a spell holding him in place. “I don’t blame you for it, I love Filius and Minerva, but it’s nice to have a friend my own age around, and now I can have my nighttime music too.”

Draco blinked, turning her words over in his mind.

“Do you consider me a friend, then?” His voice was careful.

“Yes,” Lovegood replied in her usual dreamy tone, moonlit eyes hypnotizing him to sit down on the carpet before her. “I’ve considered you a friend ever since you sent me those books to pass the time. I don’t think you know it, but I wasn’t sure about what I was going to do if I survived the war. You helped make up my mind towards potions.”

Draco felt the shame like a painful tug in his chest, and he couldn’t help cringing at her words. Did she really consider him a friend for sending her books as a distraction from the fact that she was incarcerated in his home?

“I should have gotten you out.”

“I don’t think that would have been good for your family.” Lovegood pointed out.

No, it wouldn’t. The Dark Lord knew that the Malfoy’s greatest weakness was each other, He made it abundantly clear that one single misstep was all it would take to-

“Don’t you resent me for it?” His voice came out almost too quiet, afraid of her answer.

“No,” her siren-like voice was soothing in its evenness. “I was miserable, I missed my father and was terrified that Bellatrix would sneak in and kill Garrick or me just for sport, but I didn’t expect you to do anything, you had never been a friend to me before, so receiving those books was… encouraging, I think.”

Draco let a beat of silence pass as he searched her face for any sign of deception.

“No riddles?” He asked, when there was none to be found, and Lovegood chuckled that airy, chiming, laugh.

“No riddles.”

The smile crept to his face before he could help it, the drink mixing with her irresistible honesty and tearing down all the defences around his heart. It felt like he could just say anything that came to mind, it was most intoxicating feeling so powerful in the vulnerability of having no walls up.

“You are a bit of a loony, you know?” He tried out his newfound boldness. “But I don’t think that’s a bad thing.” Draco was quick to add, lest she might think he was being derisive.

“Many people would disagree with the last bit.” She pointed out, amusement glinting in those siren eyes.

She was teasing him, how wonderful that was.

“Many people are ridiculous, you’re bloody brilliant,” he defended passionately. “No riddles.”

It really was something to see her smile in all its glory, the way her skin crinkled around her eyes and how they seemed to sparkle, moon and stars on a face that looked entirely unearthly.

“Thank you, Draco.”

What a disgrace that he had previously known Lovegood merely as a friend of Potter’s, one year younger than them, and a Ravenclaw. The sheer horror of having a school-aged girl locked in their basement had prompted him to send her those books for solace – books for a Ravenclaw, no one could accuse Draco of having any imagination –, what would he have done, had him known the fantastic creature that she is?

“I’m sorry for taking my frustration out on you.” He apologised after a long pause, picking some lint off the duvet.

Lovegood just shrugged.

“I’m always on for a debate, so I don’t really mind, but you stress a lot, that can’t be good for you.”

He sighed, folding his legs before him, arms over his knees.

“It’s not something I can help.”

“Is it something I can help?” She offered, and he didn’t need to ask to know she was being sincere. No riddles.

“I don’t think so. The kids…” Draco leaned on the strange comfort of talking to her.

Perhaps that would be all the help he needed, Pansy was always trying to convince him to talk about things, after all.

“They know what I was during the war. I thought they’d be too young to actually know, but I guess their parents talk, and the name…” He sighed.

“I’m sorry to hear that, I know you’re very proud of your family.”

“Perhaps it’s for the best,” Draco shrugged, trying to feign detachment. “Maybe we did need to be knocked down one or two pegs.”

Or all the way down to disgrace, as it was.

Lovegood kept her moonlit gaze on his, and he had the distinct feeling that she had realized his act, she probably knew him well enough by now to catch that half-assed of a lie.

“Right at the start of the term, it was the first class for the second-year kids, Ross asked me straight on whether I was a- you know,” Draco gestured vaguely with his hand. “I wasn’t expecting anyone to be so direct, I had no idea how to respond, I felt like bashing my head against the wall.”

“Children are curious.”

“Ravenclaws specially so,” he teased. “I did the Sev thing and assigned the class some heavy work to dissuade them from further questioning. Do you think that will happen every year?”

Lovegood pondered it over.

“Not likely, they’ll probably tell their younger siblings about the former Death Eater professor so there’ll be no reason to ask.”

Draco scowled.

“Well, that’s disheartening.”

Her soul-reading gaze met his.

“Maybe, but they’ll soon get used to thinking about you as their professor, rather than what you were before, kids forget we exist outside of school, you’ll see how excited they get when they catch a glimpse of us anywhere else.”

Draco thought it over, letting the silence stretch in the cozy little room. That was right, he had been surprised even seeing McGonagall drink, the kids might soon reduce him to the role of professor and nothing else. The idea was strangely liberating.

He looked back at the witch fumbling with her muggle iPod device, buried underneath a thick duvet.

“Do you want me to cast a warming charm in the room?”

Those eyes settled on his again, and Draco wondered whether they had anything to do with her being such a good teacher, the way she could command anyone’s full attention with a single glance.

Lovegood showed him a small smile.

“There’s no need, the weight is soothing to me. Like a hug, you know?”

Draco nodded, wondering whether he should feel unsettled by how easy and inebriating it was to be vulnerable with her.

“Then good night, Luna.” He got up to leave, but paused at the door. “Thank you.”

“Good night, Draco,” her eyes followed him. “Any time.”

He didn’t need to ask. No riddles.

Chapter Text

Everything was so normal that Draco almost thought he’d stepped back in time, or into a parallel universe of some sort. It was all quieter, true, there was no Aunt Bella rampaging around – he should be sorry for it, but it was refreshing that at least Poppy didn’t have to deal with her antics – and no feast being prepared to entertain the other Sacred families, since the Malfoys had committed to a quieter life away from the public eye.

And yet, the Manor was fully decorated, with a massive Yule tree in the middle of the main hall, and the smells of festive food permeated the air. Maman rushed in out of nowhere when he stepped out of the fireplace, patting him all over, as if to make sure he was still in one piece, and then peppering him with kisses and endearments that would have mortified any other 27-year-old man but made Draco smile like a boy again, feeling warm to the bone.

“Tout va bien, je vais bien¹,” he found himself laughing. “Maman, s’il vous plaît²!”

“S’il me- well, what does please me is to have you home, and looking so well.” Maman stepped back to look him over, smiling brightly.

“Merci³, Maman. Papa, how are you?” Draco stepped into the room shaking Papa’s hand, relieved to see that he seemed to be faring as well as Maman kept advertising in her letters.

“I’m doing quite well, son, welcome home.”

Poppy was there in a heartbeat, carrying a tray of French toasts and the tea set.

“Hello, Poppy. Merlin, how I missed your cooking.”

The elf beamed under his praise, and Draco snatched a toast from the tray, causing Maman to tut about his manners in a chiding too fond to be serious. He watched as the little house-elf retreated towards the drawing room, noticing, pleased, that there seemed to be no discomfort in her gait. Poppy never complained of the pain, and it was hard enough to even get her to admit to it, so Draco had learned to look for non-verbal cues, but, thankfully, the potion seemed to be keeping it at bay.

It was like the last ten years had never happened, the entire world seemed devoid of worries as the Malfoys enjoyed the quiet morning in the drawing room, Maman’s chatter filling the place as she interrogated Draco on his life as a Hogwarts professor.

“The half-wit?” She put her teacup down, leaning forward.

“She’s not a half-wit by any cut,” he defended. “Lovegood is actually quite brilliant, despite her approach to potion-making being so… unorthodox.”

“Oh, well,” Maman waved a ring-laden hand. “Genius is always one step away from madness, and Ravenclaws, having two feet, often plant one in each.”

Papa laughed quietly at her observation.

“It’s good that the students have Draco to counter that with some sense.” He mused.

“They’re lucky to have you.” Maman nodded enthusiastically, and Draco smiled down at his tea.

“As my parents, your opinion might be biased.”

“I’ve never accused you of competence where there was not,” Papa noted. “Or have you forgotten the Ancient Runes disaster?”

Draco cringed at the memory of that A, and how there had been hell to pay when his father caught wind of it.

“No riddles, then.” He muttered with a smile.

“What was that?”

Draco’s eyes widened, realising what he had just said.

“Oh? Oh, that’s something Lovegood and I came up with to let each-other know we’re being completely honest, as opposed to talking in riddles, as she puts it.” He chuckled, and Papa let out a little “ah” of understanding.

It felt so good finally being home again that a part of Draco dreaded the moment something would go terribly wrong, and perhaps that was why, in the quiet time before supper, he found himself back at the study, parchment and quill in hand. He had already discussed the latest Potions Monthly with Luna in person, and there was nothing he truly wanted to say, but still, he felt compelled to reach out to her, if only for that relief that she could so often provide with a simple talk.

Cherished Luna,

Something about precision, something about intuition, which is riddles to say that I miss talking to you, and that I hope this letter finds you in excellent health and even better spirits.

I have arrived at Malfoy Manor for the holidays season, for which, I beg you don’t take it badly, I’m exultant. You would know, if you had been properly shown the house, that there is no place half as lovely in all of England, which could only possibly be rendered lovelier by your presence (above ground, no riddles).

You have probably realized by now that I have nothing of interest to say except that I look forward to your reply, since you always have so many fascinating thoughts to share.

I wish you a merry Yuletide and a wonderful start to 2008, and pray you know that the joy of seeing you again at Hogwarts won’t be diminished in any measure by reading the brilliant works of your mind, that is to say:

Write back soon ! No riddles!

Your friend,

Draco

He looked at the letter for a shamefully short while before losing his nerve. Luna had something about her that compelled him to thorough vulnerability, but the effect wasn’t the same from a distance, Draco was never as free anywhere as he was under the moonlight of her veritaserum eyes.

Picking another piece of parchment, he decided to start over.

Esteemed Professor Lovegood,

I hope this letter finds you in good health and spirits.

I have arrived at Malfoy Manor for the season, much to my joy. If any item from our library would suit your taste, don’t hesitate to let me know and I’ll have Nuage deliver it to you.

The quietude of Wiltshire at this time of the year means I have nothing of interest to discuss, but I would very much like to know your mind in whatever subject you’re currently poring over, if I have an opinion on it rest assured that I’ll make it known.

Wishing you a merry Yuletide and a wonderful start to 2008, and looking forward to receiving news from you.

Cordially,

Professor Malfoy.

P.S.: No riddles whatsoever.

Draco cast a drying charm on the parchment and folded it up, remembering only halfway out to address it, and rushing to his bedroom, where Nuage snoozed on her perch.

Without a reply from Luna, the lingering sense of foreboding made it impossible for Draco to sleep that night, no matter how much he tossed and turned, and, at a point, even picked a heavy duvet from the closet, willing to try her sworn-by soothing remedy.

At some point in the little hours of morning, he was forced to accept defeat, throwing a robe over his pyjamas and heading out into the silent house. Perhaps there was still enough valerian in his lab for a simple calming draught, or the mere act of brewing might settle his mind enough that he would be able to go back to bed and finally catch some sleep. Invigorated by that thought, Draco rushed silently down the stairs, only to halt as he saw candlelight leaking under the door of the study.

Draco hesitated, approaching the room on the balls of his feet. Could it be that Papa had forgotten the candle there? The idea was absurd, Lucius Malfoy was nothing if not careful, what if he was sick? What if he had fallen unconscious or something of the sort? Draco drew a deep breath to push away the childish nerves and silently turned the doorknob, stepping into the room.

The sight he was met with made him gasp, Papa was sitting on the floor, his back against the heavy mahogany desk, a bottle of fire whiskey in hand, his eyes rimmed red from the dried-out tears that stained his face.

“Papa?” Draco rushed to where he sat, looking for any wounds or clue of what could be wrong. “Papa, what happened?”

The man looked up at him with bleary eyes but didn’t reply.

“Stay here, I’ll call Poppy!”

The grip around his wrist was surprisingly strong given his father’s state. Papa opened his mouth, taking a moment to sort through the words.

“Not like this.”

Merlin, he was drunk. Draco took a deep breath, assessing his father again, the man was pitifully drunk, but that seemed to be the full extent of it.

The sight of tearstains made him want to throw up, run for the hills, call an actual adult, because as far as he knew Papa never cried, and realising otherwise made Draco feel helpless, like a child caught in a disaster.

“Alright,” He whispered, forcing himself out of his stupor. “No one will see you like this. Why don’t you let me help you to the couch? We’ll say you just fell asleep reading, and I’ll give you something for the headache in the morning.”

Papa allowed Draco to help him up without further comment, looking utterly defeated. He sat him down on the couch, slow and carefully, cursing himself mentally for getting so out of shape ever since his quidditch days.

“Here, give me the bottle. It’s empty.”

The older wizard made no attempt to keep the mostly empty fire whiskey bottle, letting Draco take it out of his hands and put it on the-

Desk.

That first drafted letter to Luna was still there, where he had forgotten it in his haste to send the other one.

“You shouldn’t leave private correspondence lying around.” Papa commented, probably realizing what Draco had seen.

He forced himself to leave the bottle there and turn back to face his father again.

“It doesn’t matter,” he lowered himself on one knee, bending the other in front of him, in order not to look at his father from above. “It’s just a draft of a letter to a colleague.”

“A friend, I reckon.”

“A friend.” Draco admitted.

“More?”

“A friend.” He insisted, his face already hot from the effort of lifting his father up from the floor.

Papa breathed in deeply and then out, slowly.

“It’s good that you’re making friends again.” He mused. “The Lovegoods are not a powerful family, but, well, beggars can’t really be choosers.”

His voice broke at the end of the sentence and he shut his eyes, as if trying not to cry.

“Papa…” Draco let the sentence hang in the air, unsure of what to say.

It wouldn’t do starting a fight with a drunk man, much less one that had always been so staunch on his beliefs.

“At least she is pureblood.” Papa’s voice trembled. “Or as pure as it gets outside the Sacred…”

“Papa!” Draco reprimanded. “Enough of that.”

That seemed to destabilize the other man, and he leaned forward, pressing his hands to his eyes as if he could physically hold the tears in.

“What have I done?”

“You’ve done nothing wrong-”

“The Malfoy name…”

Oh, Merlin.

“Papa-”

“The Malfoy name was supposed to be your inheritance and I destroyed it.”

Draco stood there, frozen in place, with no idea what to do.

“I wanted to make it greater, the greatest name in Britain, the inheritance you deserved, and now it’s worse than nothing. I’m so sorry, Draco, I’m so, so, sorry.”

That keening was like a hot knife through Draco’s heart, and he quickly threw a wandless silencing charm on the room, praying that no one had heard it.

“Papa, listen- no, listen.” He insisted when the older man tried to apologize again. “None of that was your fault, no one fought harder to cut Him out, you did everything you could so that we wouldn’t have to get involved.”

“You ended up involved anyway, marked, like cattle.”

“Not for lack of you trying.” Draco replied firmly. “It wasn’t for us to kill the Dark Lord, all we could do was to keep each other alive until the war ran its course.”

Lucius shook his head, his face still buried in his hands.

“I keep thinking…”

“Leave the heroics to the foot soldiers, Papa, we keep each other safe.” Draco insisted. “At whatever cost. You did great, we all survived, didn’t we?”

Papa drew another shaky breath.

“Survive. What a grand prize.” He mocked. “Tell me there’s more to it than that, son, tell me you’re as happy as I find you to be,” that took Draco by surprise. “No… what is it? No tricks.”

“No riddles.” Draco found it in himself to smile despite the heartbreak. “I’m happy, or on the way there, I think. I feel good more often than not, and I look forward to the future, a closer future, true, the start of the next term, I don’t venture hoping much farther yet, but I think in time… It’s too soon to give up.”

Papa rubbed his eyes violently, sniffing as he looked up, past him, to the empty painting of his grandfather behind the desk, and it dawned on Draco that Papa had been sitting on the floor before the desk to escape the judgmental gaze of their ancestor. He’d make sure to take that painting away in the morning.

“You are happy, you just don’t want to rub it on my face. The family name is in tatters and you’re happier than you’ve been in… what, fifteen years?” There was no recrimination in his voice, only pragmatic assessment. “For all I loved you, I was always blind to what you truly needed, and, despite all my efforts, in the end you found happiness without any interference from me.”

“That’s not true,” Draco interjected. “You supported me taking on the role of professor, I couldn’t have done it without you, that was you giving me the chance to find happiness.”

“That was me being your father.” Papa countered, but his eyes focused on the desk. “That’s it, isn’t it?” He frowned. “My main responsibility as your father is to give you all possible chances to find happiness.”

Draco let himself smile as the reply came naturally to him.

“Then you have your answer, I’m happy, you’ve succeeded.”

The statement sounded almost absurd in its simplicity, like something Luna might have said, and, as with Luna’s arguments, there was no debunking it.

Lucius Malfoy let out a deep breath, tears running down his face again, but a weight seemed to have been lifted from his shoulders.

Dear Draco,

I’m healthy and happy, and glad to know you’re happy at home with your family.

Looks like we’re both taking a break this holidays season, I haven’t done any work since I got home, and hardly any research, though that might change soon. Ginny confiscated my books as soon as I got to the Burrow to encourage me to mingle with the others, but now everyone is complaining of me talking about you, so I hope she’ll give at least some of them back and then I can go back to the research about how to make wolfsbane work for women as well as it does for men, I think the key might be the dragon blood, but further investigation is needed.

If any of your books can help with that, I’d be very thankful.

I have to go now, Molly is yelling at us to clear out so she can clean the kitchen, but I didn’t want to wait before writing back to you. I hope you have a really great time with your family, let me know your thoughts on wolfsbane or anything else, your writing is very nice to read.

Cheers,

Luna.

Chapter Text

Draco stretched in bed, joints cracking, and put the book aside, getting up to use the restroom. It was way past his bedtime – he had stayed up late reading, prolonged exposure to a Ravenclaw was truly starting to affect him – so he wasn’t at all surprised to see that there were lights on in the laboratory beyond the sitting room he shared with Luna.

He stood there for a moment, knowing from the start that his curiosity would inevitably win out and he’d take a peek, but pretending to try to resist himself if for the sake of propriety alone, never mind that lately Draco would happily jump at any chance to spend some time with his brilliant friend.

Screw it.

He turned the doorknob as slowly as possible, making no noise in order not to disrupt Luna’s work, only to realize that his opening the door wouldn’t have affected the process in the slightest.

Luna was wearing the muggle iPod connected to her ears, and she mouthed words of a song, dancing in her strange white robe and goggles – Merlin, that woman had always had the most particular taste in eyewear – while a potion simmered in the cauldron, her hair potion, from the smell of it.

She had no business being so charming. Draco leaned on the doorframe, watching her chaotic little dance and hearing the occasional scream-whispered words, unable to keep the smile from his face. He had been right in assuming her to be a dancer then, but she moved without purpose or calculation, in a way that would have been ridiculous for anyone else, but Luna could make it into an art form.

It just made sense, he guessed, everything she did was art.

Still, Draco couldn’t hold back a chuckle when she ended the performance with a fist shot up towards the ceiling and her head down, startling the poor witch out of her skin.

“Merlin’s arse, Draco!” She shrieked, pressing a hand to her heart. “I didn’t see you there!”

It wasn’t that he didn’t feel – slightly – guilty for sneaking up on her, but who would have known Luna could swear like that, impressing so much indignation into her chiming siren voice?

“Watch your potion and language.” He teased, gesturing towards the cauldron with his head, trying not to be too pleased that for once he had been the one to fluster her. “What are you brewing there, hair potion?”

“Lab robes and safety glasses if you’re coming into the lab,” she demanded, pulling the ear coverings down to hang from her neck. “I’m making a kids’ version of amortentia for their Valentine’s Day Challenge next week.”

“Kids’ amortentia?” He inquired.

“It’s like an enhancer of senses for people who already have warm feelings, the same base as the original amortentia, but without the compelling aspect. Lab robes and safety glasses, Draco! And gloves too!”

“I’m not wearing-” he started grumbling, but a glare from her silvery eyes changed his mind. “Why?”

His last act of defiance was diminished by the fact that he hadn’t even finished uttering the word before heading to the lockers at the end of the room, where she kept the odd white robes and glasses.

“Protects skin and eyes.” She sniffed at the potion and gave it a whimsical stir.

That much he could have guessed, but neither Sev nor Slughorn had gone to those lengths to ensure their own safety or that of the students.

“Do you want me to write that extra stir down?” He asked, looking over at her scribbled notes.

Well, neither Sev nor Slughorn intuited their way around any potion, so that might have something to do with it.

“No need, it’s just that the dahlia I used was a touch bigger than the standard,” she pointed at the liquid. “It was starting to look like it might spoil.”

“Intuitive, then.” He teased, stepping closer to her. “What is that music?”

“Queen,” Luna snapped her fingers a few times, moving her head and muttering pieces of the song, lashes fluttering over her devastating eyes, before adding butterflies’ wings and handing him the rod. “Three counter-clock, please.”

“What speed?” Draco’s eyes widened in surprise as she twirled away from just under his nose, leaving him to handle the potion on his own.

“The same beat as the school anthem.” The witch chimed from somewhere behind him.

That was not an answer, but there was no time for hesitation or he’d risk ruining her entire work, so Draco just muttered the school anthem to himself and complied, not realizing he had closed his eyes until the third stir was done.

“Thank you.”

“Why is the school anthem your measurement unit?” He groaned, turning back, his face hot, and finding the infuriatingly charming potions master right behind him.

“It’s not, it’s just the first thing I could think of with the same beat-per-minute count as Space Oddity.” She stared into his soul with a dreamy smile, and he felt his face hot enough to keep a teacup warm.

Draco cleared his throat, looking over her head at the wall to escape that unsettling gaze.

“Someday you will say something that I can comprehend.”

Luna laughed lightly, her moonlit eyes sparkling with amusement as she took her glasses off.

“Well, you did it, congratulations on your first ever potion brewed without freaking out over details.”

“Speak for yourself, I did a healthy freaking-” he looked back and his gaze landed on the perfect pearly glow of the potion sitting in the small cauldron. “Merlin, I can’t believe you improvised your way into a variety of bloody amortentia, you brilliant witch.”

Luna’s smile widened as she stepped away from the laboratory area and hoisted herself to sit on top of their shared classroom desk to wait for the potion to cool down, peeling her gloves.

“Do you know why Minerva assigned you to the younger kids and me to the older ones?”

Draco followed her lead, taking the glasses and gloves off as well and resisting the urge to shake his head like a wet dog to get rid of the feeling the ribbon left on his skull.

“Well, I can guess now.”

She nodded, pleased, swinging her long legs from the edge of the desk in a way that almost begged to be snatched up by the waist.

“You finally get it then? They need to learn the exact measurements, properties and reactions of each ingredient and become familiar with their correct proportions in relation to one another, in order to be able to detect what the problem is when a potion starts going wrong and correct it timely farther along the road. At the very least that’ll save them time and ingredients, but, depending on the potion, it could save someone’s life.”

Draco stared at the bright-eyed witch, his lips parted with an awe that was nothing short of enchantment. That was not what he had assumed at all, he had just figured it made sense to have the resident genius teach the older kids, but in a way her explanation just proved his point.

“You’re a bloody genius.”

Luna looked away, colour rising to her cheeks in a way that should never be allowed, highlighting the delicate sharpness of her features.

Merlin, she was brilliant beyond brilliance, what right did she have to be so soul-wrenching beautiful as well? Someone must do something about it, was no one keeping score of fairness in this world?

“I got the idea for intuitive brewing during my BSc in Chemistry, but I’d never had gotten so far if I hadn’t read your notes on the potion books you sent me when I was locked up, your knowledge of the ingredients was irresistible, I knew then my future was potion-making.” Her moonlit eyes gleamed with passion, and Draco knew he couldn’t have moved from his place if he wanted to.

He would ask what a BSc was some other time, but, right now, there was a much more pressing matter at hand.

“Are you sure about the results?” He asked, swallowing to try to smooth the raspiness off his voice. “Amortentia isn’t supposed to release fumes.”

Luna looked from him to the cauldron and back at him.

“It’s not fuming.”

Damn it, woman.

“That’s riddles for I really want to kiss you.”

Her eyes widened, lips parting slightly in shock. Damn it, what had he-

“No riddles, please do it.”

Draco didn’t need to be told twice.

He stepped closer, standing between her knees, and Luna met him halfway, leaning forward until their lips touched, and it was dizzying, like his mind was propelled towards some place among the clouds, far above the castle, so far that Draco had to brace his hands on the desk on either side of her to keep from swaying.

Soft hands cradled his face, making the hair stand up on the back of his neck, and he pressed his own hands flat against the wood to keep from reaching for her waist when Luna slid her tongue past the seam of his lips, laying him open to her maddening explorations, his heart snatching on the hot puffs of her breath on his face.

Draco’s heart raced like he was under attack, and he figured he should have known that kissing her would break him, because Luna kissed like she argued, passionately, confidently and thoroughly, and her kiss left him just as bewildered as their arguments, pushing away all other thoughts and commanding all of his attention, leaving all that he was on display for her to scatter, study, lay bare.

He had always kept fractions of him even from people he loved, but Luna commanded everything, and Draco realized, exhilarated, that he was fine with that, because Luna could look upon the most repulsive creature with gentleness, she had done so with him, and there was something sublime about the idea of being perceived with so much grace.

“Draco.” Luna whispered his name on his lips and in his mind he bid this world farewell, because one more of those and his soul would surely depart.

By now he was almost clawing at the desk to keep his hands from wandering, trying to swallow down the sounds his throat wanted to make, and swallowing the remainders of the taste of tea, that she always insisted on having after dinner, which made his struggle that much harder, not to account for the scent of amortentia in the room that was really just the scent of her hair, Merlin, how soft it must be.

It was far too many battles for one man to be fighting.

Luna pulled away from him and the struggle to keep his mouth from chasing hers meant his throat was left unattended, letting out a pathetic little whimper.

“Stop overthinking.”

Merlin, her voice came out breathless, a testament to the intensity of that kiss that could never last long enough, and Draco wondered whether he had any right to feel so triumphant over it.

“I’m not even thinking, let alone overthinking.” He whispered, feasting his eyes on her swollen lips.

“Draco,” some part of him tried to focus when she called his name again. “No riddles.”

“No riddles.” He agreed, lifting his gaze back up to hers, which was clearly a mistake because the way her pupils were blown wide was positively indecent.

“Tell me what you want.”

A less noble part of his body had an instant reply to that question, which Draco promptly dismissed, flexing his hands on the wooden surface. Luna’s ethereal beauty was about as undone as he felt, her lips ravaged and eyes bright, with a deep blush covering her cheeks, making she looked carnal in the loveliest way.

“I want to kiss you.”

He wanted to do many things, but a gentleman couldn’t voice that sort of burning need, so he would be content with kissing her until the world went up in flames perhaps.

“Why are you gripping the desk like that?”

Too clever, why was his witch so clever?

“I also want to hold your waist.” He confessed.

Luna tilted her head with a smirk that gave Draco a thrill like his first flight on a broom.

“Then hold it.”

His hands flew to the curve of her waist, responding to her command rather than to his feeble self-control, giving her a squeeze for good measure, and she let out a groan like a purr.

“Yes, this feels good.”

Now, chivalry could only go so far, Draco was a gentleman, not a saint.

Chapter Text

“Good morning, Loony.” Draco greeted, earning a sleepy smile from Luna, who sat on the sofa in her usual muggle band t-shirt and jeans, brassy waves framing the delicate face set in a frown of concentration as she entertained herself with a muggle puzzle cube.

That smile was in all likelihood the extension of greeting he would receive for the next half hour or so, Luna’s ability to stay up until three o’clock, dancing and working in the laboratory, meant she needed a cup of tea strong enough to raise the dead and then about two hours of monastical silence to become functional again in the morning, giving Draco the time for exercising – the latest developments in their relationship had highlighted the need for him to work on his endurance – and doing research.

He laid down on the couch, resting his head on her thighs and watching those delicate fingers move the pieces of the puzzle around, her hypnotizing eyes flitting to his every now and then, never failing to make him smile. Was it odd that he could easily spend an hour like that? Such a simple thing as being in her presence, with his head on her lap, was enough to brighten up his mood, even if they didn’t say anything.

There was an untold amount of simple things Draco had come to treasure lately, like when they met by chance in the library or the greenhouses, secured extra portions of each-other’s favourite treats at mealtime, conspired happily together, hushed voices over pumpkin juice at the staff table, talking about potions or music or everything or nothing, and the dungeons had become to him the brightest part of the castle, in the passion of night and in the quiet of morning both.

Luna finished solving the puzzle and held it up with a triumphant smirk that Draco couldn’t resist kissing. Surely they were allowed a few moments of indulgence before starting the day, no? It was exams week after all, which meant a last bolt of desperation-driven studying for the kids and no lesson planning for them as professors.

No wonder the professors walked around looking so refreshed that week, it was less out of a sadistic joy and more out of the sheer relief of having some damn time for breathing, time that Draco intended to spend mostly under the Ravenclaw-blue duvet he had gotten for Luna over Yuletide.

Alas, his stomach had other plans.

“Time for breakfast.” She chuckled, hypnotic eyes sparkling with amusement.

“I think I’ll try to live on kisses alone.” He argued, chasing the warmth of her breath, his hand sliding down her waist when she got up from the couch.

Luna stretched with her arms over her head, displaying a lovely extension of pale skin, before accioing her robes, and Draco took the chance to sequester her favourite hair pencil from the coffee table.

“I don’t think that’s possible.” She commented, amused, pulling her shirt back over her stomach.

“Why not? My intuition indicates otherwise.” Draco got up, stepping closer to slide his hand under the fabric, getting a hold of her waist again.

She shot him a mock glare, buttoning up her robe over David Bowie’s face and pulling those hip-length brassy locks out of it.

“Where’s my pencil?”

“What pencil?” He feigned ignorance, nose brushing hers.

She cocked her head and stood on the tip of her toes, her lips soft and warm over his, and Draco couldn’t help smiling into the kiss as she ran her hands down his arms, taking back her favourite hair ornament.

“Unfair.” He complained, in between kisses. “Why don’t you wear your hair down?”

Luna was smiling back, her teeth grazing his lips, sending a shiver down his spine.

“It gets in the way.”

“It looks so good.” The lamentation came out a bit too breathless.

“Didn’t you say last night that I always look good?” She stepped back, rolling her hair up and fixing it in place with the drawing utensil.

“I stand by what I said, no riddles,” Draco vowed, admiring the blush across her lovely faerie face. “But some variety wouldn’t hurt.”

Luna raised her eyebrows at him.

“Then-”

“No, I’m not talking about that.” He tugged on the cuffs of the shirt under his robe, looking away to hide his flushed face, and Luna laughed her siren laugh.

It wasn’t that he didn’t know he would eventually agree to all her cheeky little bedroom ideas, one by one, but a man could at least have the dignity to pretend to stall.

They made their way to the Great Hall for breakfast in a quiet expectation for the Potions Monthly, due to arrive today. By now, Draco had gotten used to the overtly curious looks from the staff – and even some students –, having adopted Luna’s tried and true method of looking entirely unfazed by the whole scrutiny, which had the added bonus of locking McGonagall and Flitwick in a standstill about whether or not they were together.

Truth be told, that was a question not even Draco would be able to answer. It was a lady’s prerogative, after all, to define the status of a relationship, something he was fairly sure Luna ignored, and the idea of bringing that up with her was terrifying enough that Draco had reconciled himself to never ever approaching the subject, choosing instead to torture himself about it in the middle of the night, like a reasonable adult wizard.

“Oh, there are strawberries!” Luna celebrated.

Now the unstoppable march of time towards summer threatened his little bubble of peace and happiness. Draco had a few ideas of what he’d like to do once the term was over, if that was possible, to spend some time with Luna somewhere nice – Cornwall or Côte D’Azur – and just exist between kisses, touches, and enticing academic arguments, without having to worry about nosy students and colleagues.

Regretfully, that entailed him asking her about it, a simple question that could either secure or destroy his carefully crafted fantasy, no riddles. Would you like to go on vacation together?

Nuage swooped in with the other owls and Draco placed his hand over his plate to keep Maman’s letter from taking a dive in his pancakes. The bird glided elegantly over the staff table, not only delivering his reply, but also a second letter, probably from Papa, clumsily dropped on Luna’s plate. The witch looked up, smiling at his owl before rescuing the correspondence and getting rid of the strawberry juice with a quick charm.

“Sorry about that.” Draco reached for the letter, but Luna turned it for him to read the address.

Oh, she didn’t.

Draco hastily opened his own letter, hoping to find a reasonable explanation for Maman to have written to Luna.

“Mon cher Étoile,

I’m glad to hear of Slytherin’s continued tradition of Quidditch excellence, with the school year this far along I think we can safely assume that the Cup will be returning to its rightful place, that is, the Snake Pit.

Papa and I have been to dinner at the Parkinsons where we learned about Pansy getting reacquainted with Astoria Greengrass during the Wizarding Law Congress in Paris, they now appear to be working in some joint initiative that Mrs. Parkinson is too daft to comprehend, let alone explain, which has them sharing lodgings in Germany – something I definitely don’t approve of, you know how lax they are with muggle-wizarding relations there, but, alas, no one asked for my opinion – while endeavouring to promote ties between the Ministry, European Wizarding Council and the German Wizarding Secretariat.

Parkinson showed us the postcards, it all looks very charming and impressed upon Papa and I a desire for an European tour this summer, so I hope Prof. Lovegood replies to our invitation soon, that way we can set the dates and make arrangements in such way that her stay here doesn’t interfere with our travel plans (I don’t care how old you are, you will not be alone with a woman in our house unless she’s a Malfoy).

Do you know what Prof. Lovegood’s preferred foods are?

Please reply as soon as you have that answer.

Avec amour,

Maman.”

She couldn’t be serious.

Draco kept his eyes on the letter, unseeing, too scared to face the witch at his side.

“Oh, your mum has invited me to spend a week at Malfoy Manor, how nice. I’ve always wondered what the rest of the house looked like.” Luna said, tucking the letter under her plate and going back to her breakfast. “Do you think she truly meant it, or is it riddles?”

Draco forced a sip of tea down his throat. He could lie to her and say it was just a formality, that Maman didn’t really mean the invitation, but that was a vile idea, wasn’t it? Maman had definitely meant the invitation, perhaps she had intuited something despite Draco taking the care not to mention Luna too much in his letters, she’d be upset if Luna turned them down.

“No riddles.” He found himself replying, his voice a mere whisper.

Luna smiled, moving on with her breakfast, and Draco tried to do the same despite the thousands of thoughts running through his mind. She had agreed to spend a week in his home, where she’d formally meet his parents, that had to mean something, right? But that was Luna, did she know it was supposed to mean something? Did it mean she was taking what they had seriously, or did she take it as a friendship thing? She stayed at the burrow for a day or two over Yuletide, he recalled.

Merlin, his parents would find her nothing short of barbaric, and Luna would find them the epitome of pedantry, and everything would be ruined because Maman couldn’t hold herself back from meddling, and whatever they had would be over before it even had a chance to properly begin, he could kiss goodbye all dreams about their little getaway in Corsica or Truro, it was all done for.

The witch raised a hand and caught the Potions Monthly mid-air, before it could hit him on the head, and Draco struggled not to plead with her to just forget that and go to the seaside with him, Merlin, they could even go to Monaco – that distasteful nouveau-riche extravaganza –, anything.

But what if she thought that he was attempting to hide her away? What if she thought he was ashamed of her, and that he was as pedantic as his family, and a good-for-nothing blood supremacist, and-

Luna rolled a strawberry from her plate to his.

“Eat, Draco, you’re white as a sheet.”

“Maman,

See that? No “chère Maman” because I’m quite cross with you right now! What is this now, inviting my colleagues to the manor without at least talking to me first? Who else should I expect you to invite over? McGonagall? Slughorn?

I would very much like to see what you would do if Prof. Lovegood and I weren’t on friendly terms, even more so, what if we had fought and vowed to hate one another forever, what then?

Frankly, Maman, one would have thought gardening and fanning over Papa would have kept you entertained, but perhaps it’s time I get you a cat dog, a big, hairy, drooling dog, who’d run around the house knocking everything over, perhaps then you wouldn’t have the time to go around making trouble.

Je t’aime à mourir, but, honestly, woman.

Your very bewildered son,

Draco.”

“Étoile,

There’s a portrait of Scorpius Black in the potions classroom.

Find out what Professor Lovegood likes to eat, I’ll have Poppy work a menu that’ll be sure to enchant her.

Avec amour,

Maman."

“Perhaps you can walk time into passing faster.” Papa commented, a gleam of amusement in his eyes.

Draco groaned, forcing himself to stop pacing the main hall. Luna wouldn’t be arriving for another few minutes, which was enough time for him to despair at leisure and try to educate his parents some more.

“Please, forsake the sarcasm for a few minutes if you can, Papa.”

The older wizard smirked.

“I’ll be on my best behaviour, don’t worry.”

As if that was possible.

“What do you think?” Maman stopped at the top of the stairs in a smart light-blue dress.

“You look amazing, Maman.” Draco smiled, relieved, noticing the Ravenclaw nod.

“Perhaps don’t try to outshine our guest on her first day here.” Papa commented, offering her a hand as she came downstairs.

“Oh, Lucius!”

Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

The flickering of green flames in the fireplace caught his eye and Draco had to actively keep himself from smoothing his clothes again, making a herculean effort to stay still while his parents gathered behind him.

His heart leapt in his chest at the sight of that now familiar faerie-like face set in her ever-present dreamy smile. Luna’s hair was down, for once, in a very cruel test of his self-control. That one week since the school year had ended might as well be a month, for all that he missed her.

“Luna,” he breathed out, grinning like a fool. “Welcome to Malfoy Manor. These are my parents, Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy. Maman, Papa, this is Professor Luna Lovegood.”

Luna stepped forward, offering her hand to Maman, who used it to pull her closer for air-kisses before Papa bowed gingerly over that same hand with a quick kiss.

“Professor Lovegood.”

“Well met, Lord Malfoy, Lady Narcissa.” Luna replied, her tone quieter than usual, and Draco’s smile widened to hear her using the traditional pureblood greeting and address.

“Oh, please, we can drop the titles.” Maman beamed, waving her hand.

Luna stood uncharacteristically still, the smile plastered to her face, and Draco stepped closer to her as her eyes scanned the hall.

“What do you think? Not too ominous, I hope, with all those portraits looking down.” He blabbed, feeling almost suffocated by his tie.

“It’s a beautiful house,” she replied, studying his ancestors. “Above ground, I mean.”

At once Papa’s eyebrows shot up and Maman’s face fell into an expression of dismay.

“You should see the gardens,” Draco rushed, picking Luna’s hand and placing it firmly on his arm, and some of her tension seemed to melt away. “Maman has been keeping a bed of lavender under the drawing room windows, I reckon you’ll be able to smell them from your room as well.”

“Please, don’t assume anything because of it, she’s without an ounce of malice, I swear to you.” Draco whispered reassuringly.

“I can’t believe anyone that age is.” Papa replied, unconvinced.

“She detests me already,” Maman declared. “She can never forgive us for that, oh, Lucius-”

“Maman, stop that,” Draco pleaded. “If Luna truly detested you, believe me, that would have been stated clearly. She meant exactly what she said, that the house is beautiful, but then she probably remembered visiting another area and felt the need to specify that she meant the social area was beautiful.”

Maman, having been looking forward to this visit the most, seemed to be on the verge of tears at the perceived crumbling of her perfectly crafted hosting efforts, and Draco was having a hard time convincing her that Luna was not throwing jabs at their allegiance in the war and did not, in fact, hate them.

“Why would she even reference that?” Papa grumbled, miserable at the sight of his wife’s distress.

“Papa-”

“Professor Lovegood is coming.” Poppy alerted them, having finished setting the tea and sandwiches, and the family expertly engaged in an observation of the items presented.

“Victoria sandwich, Merlin, Lucius, do you remember when was the last time we had this?”

“I think Draco was still in school.” Papa took his cue, as if they had been engrossed in discussing nothing all the while.

Perhaps he had grown accustomed to Luna’s directness, the whole theatrics seemed so pointless now. As if summoned by his thoughts, the witch walked in a moment later, dressed for tea as she dressed for anything else, that is, in a t-shirt, this time tucked into a grey skirt that flared around her narrow frame, reaching just below her knees.

She stood out like a sore thumb among the linen and lace of the Malfoys.

“You have peacocks! I nearly lost track of time watching them from the window.” She wore a more subdued version of her usual smile, but there was that sparkle of excitement in her eyes that always made Draco smile.

“If you needed more time to get dressed for tea, you could have asked Poppy to let us know, there’s no need to hurry, after all, it’s summer, isn’t it?” Papa offered, and Maman shot him a glare, but Luna just shrugged.

“I don’t need much time to put this on.” She dismissed, tugging at her skirt.

“Don’t mind Lucius, we’d all dress like the Victorians if it was up to him.” Maman chided her husband, hitting him on the arm with her fan.

“The Victorians dressed superbly.” Papa defended with an apologetic smile.

Luna looked at the short table as she sat by Draco’s side, her excitement from having seen the peacocks dying down as she realized that Papa had said something possibly insulting that she had failed to notice.

“It’s teatime, not dinner.” Draco joined in, pouring her a cup of tea to avoid giving in to the wish to put his arm around the witch over the back of the sofa.

“I think the beehive motif is perfect for a nice summer day.” Maman endorsed, her eyes lingering on the dusting of blond hair on Luna’s legs.

He shot her a glare, adding a touch of milk to Luna’s tea, thankful that the comment had entertained her from noticing Maman’s scrutiny. She frowned for a moment before looking down at her shirt.

“Oh, it’s not a beehive, it’s an oxytocin molecule,” the younger witch explained, a small smile returning to her lips. “It’s a peptide that relates to love between family members and friends, Hermione bought this when she visited me in Oxford, I thought it’d be fitting.”

Maman kept her eyebrows raised in a show of polite interest, despite her glazed eyes denouncing her complete confusion at the explanation, and Papa, probably feeling pressed after the fashion faux-pas, made the effort of replying verbally.

“How intriguing.”

Draco dropped two sugar cubes into the cup and handed it over to Luna, trying to think of a topic of conversation that could be carried somewhat harmlessly over tea.

“How long did you live there again?”

Luna thanked him with a smile and stirred the tea, the clinking of the spoon on china making Maman look over her shoulder at Papa.

“Three years, while I studied for my Bachelor of Science degree.”

He nodded dutifully, and Maman took the silence as her cue to rejoin the conversation.

“Did you meet with the Notts while you were there? I reckon they live near Oxford.”

“Isn’t there a muggle institution in Oxford?” Papa ruined it all again and Draco held on to his teacup, struggling with the temptation to end that torment by drowning in it.

“I haven’t seen the Notts ever since the war.” She cocked her head. “ And yes, Oxford has one of the best science programs in Europe, I wanted to study chemistry and then apply it to potion making.” Luna smiled wider, Papa’s dripped venom falling flat. “Draco’s notes were very thorough, I thought I’d get to the root of it all, atoms and everything, you know, and then get back to working off of them but with a wider comprehension of the micro-reactions now.”

That last statement seemed to defuse the tension at once.

“Oh, Sev always had amazing things to say about Draco.” Maman smiled again, and Draco sipped the tea to hide his mortification at the fact that the one subject they’d all agree on was… well, how fantastic a potion-maker he apparently was.

Chapter Text

This was going to be the longest week of Draco’s life. The effort of making his parents behave around Luna, the failed attempts at convincing Maman that she did not in fact resent her eternally for their home being the designated blood supremacy stronghold in the war, and the weight of Papa’s gaze on him at every interaction had Draco staring at the mirror before shower, wondering if any of his hair had turned grey and he just didn’t realize on account of it being so light to begin with.

To make matters worse, the Edwardian wards in the house meant he couldn’t step foot in Luna’s bedroom, or her in his, and he very much doubted that Maman would consent to have them dispelled, never mind that merely asking that would entail revealing way more than was proper about their relationship – whatever else he was, Draco Malfoy was a gentleman, so that was out of the question.

Even if decency meant denying himself a reprieve he was in dire need of.

He kicked the blankets aside and got up, utterly miserable for being up so late and, even worse, deprived of Luna’s presence.

Of all the things a house could be protected from, theirs had to be warded against premarital sex. Spiders? Just live with them. Mice? Send the elves after them or get a cat. An unmarried couple? Twenty-steps incantation lest they share a bedroom, because clearly that would be the ruin of House Malfoy.

Draco shot a disapproving look at the portraits of his ancestors, fuelled in equal parts by envy of their easy sleep and resentment for them – well, some of them, one of them, did it matter? – keeping him from Luna’s bed and forcing him instead to seek solace in his laboratory.

And why was it that he never seemed to keep a proper store of calming draught?

The light coming from under his laboratory doorway made his heart race and before Draco knew it, he was smiling. He should have guessed she’d be here, it was too early for Luna to be asleep, and he had made it clear that she was welcome to his laboratory at any time, no riddles.

There was an undeniable thrill at the idea of stealing a few hours away, only the two of them in the laboratory, it would be just like Hogwarts, a welcome respite from the rules that were so pointless between them, they could kiss to their hearts’ content, damnation, if Draco wasn’t a gentleman he’d be considering putting the support table to some good use.

He pushed the door open, not surprised to find Luna already at work, her face set in an unusually deep frown as she stirred what appeared to be liquid lullaby, but the colour was a touch off, not enough lavender, if he had to guess.

“I should have guessed I’d find you here.” Draco greeted her carefully, stepping closer.

“Fuck!” Luna growled, tearing the ear coverings hastily. “It’s all wrong.”

Draco’s eyes widened. He had only ever seen Luna moderately upset before, but now she seemed to be on the verge of combusting.

“Lavender,” he suggested quietly, but she just let go of the rod and stepped away, untangling herself from the iPod wires and leaving the device on the support table before pulling the pencil from her hair and raking her long fingers through the long brassy locks a few times.

Draco shot the potion a quick look and stirred at double speed to make the best out of however much lavender she had used for it. Luna never messed up a potion, he wasn’t about to let that happen now.

“What’s the matter, Loony? No riddles.”

“I’m too upset to talk now.” She replied, pacing back and forth, shaking her hands as if she had burned them.

Prying wouldn’t do any good, so Draco let it drop for the moment, focusing instead on finishing the potion as she moved restlessly, and sitting on a clean part of the support table when he was over.

“You shouldn’t sit on the worktables, especially without the protection robes.” Luna chided.

“You wouldn’t need all that protection if you stuck to the recipes.” He teased lightly, trying to bait her out of whatever was troubling her with a good old argument.

“You fixed the potion intuitively.” She pointed out, crossing her arms over her chest like she was hugging herself, her pacing slowing down to a swaying in place.

“I’ve learned from the best.” Draco hunched forward to try to get closer to her eye level.

“Professor Snape would never-”

“You.”

Luna sighed, leaning against the wall opposite to him, her eyes down.

“I’m sorry, Draco,” her voice was wan, so unlike the confident siren call he knew that it almost didn’t sound like her. “Your parents… I swear I’m trying…”

It felt like the room was closing down on him, his stomach tightening like he was going to be sick at any moment. Draco had known that visit was a bad idea from the start, he should have made some excuse to put it off a while longer, made sure that his parents understood…

“I’ll talk to them,” He pleaded. “I promise you they’re good, they’re just…”

Prejudiced? Close-minded? Focused on etiquette and tradition to the point where they’d look at anyone from outside the Sacred as if the person had two heads?

He couldn’t lose his Luna over this, he couldn’t lose his Luna anyway, over anything, ever.

“I know they’re good,” She agreed. “I’m trying my best, I’ve done my research on Sacred society, I’ve studied, but this relies on some intuition that I don’t have, there are endless variables to every interaction in a way that’s completely unpredictable only to me, like elements extensively catalogued that turn extremely volatile the moment I try to interact. I know I did something wrong, I can see that in the way they look at me, but I can’t figure out what it was, and that makes one of us, because apparently everyone else can point it out in the snap of a finger, and I can’t think with that music and this light is too loud, fuck!”

Draco watched as Luna’s rambles grew increasingly distressed, and it dawned on him for the first time that she thought she was the one in the wrong there.

“Loony,” he tried to keep his voice quiet, jumping down from the table and dimming the lights with a flick of his wand. “don’t worry about doing anything wrong, about Sacred etiquette, no one will hold it against you, petite. I’ve told my parents that you’re more direct than us, there’s been years since they interacted with anyone outside the Sacred but they’ll get used to you soon.”

She hugged herself tighter, not looking much comforted by his attempt at easing her mind.

“I wish you didn’t have to explain me to people.”

The fragility of her voice was heartbreaking. Draco stepped closer, tentatively reaching out to her, giving Luna time to step away if she wanted.

“I don’t mind explaining you to everyone I meet,” he tugged on her sleeve gently and she stepped into his arms. “You’re my favourite subject.”

Luna pressed her face to his chest and Draco tightened his arms around her, wrapping his dressing robe around them the best he could and holding her tight, like a substitute for her favourite duvet. Silence set in the laboratory as Luna’s breathing evened out and he was content to stay there, rocking gently together, for as long as it took for his witch to feel better.

“It’s not a problem for me to explain you,” he reiterated, whispering in her hair. “Just like you’re always explaining your molecules.”

That had the desired effect, Draco felt her shoulders move minutely when she huffed.

“Am I like molecules to you then?”

He smiled, glad of his triumph.

“Yes you are… the happiness molecule- don’t tell me, I remember. It’s… dopamine! You’re dopamine.”

Luna looked up, moonlit eyes hypnotizing him from under her long golden eyelashes.

“That one is linked to addiction.”

“I stand by what I said.”

She chuckled, stepping back to better look at him.

“I’ll keep trying to learn. There are dozens of books on pureblood etiquette, and I think there must be some key to understanding it, some underlying pattern, and as soon as I find it, it’ll all make more sense to me.”

“You don’t have to learn pureblood etiquette,” Draco put her hair behind her ear. “I love you chaotic and direct and with no riddles.”

She smiled, a faint blush dusting that lovely face.

“I want to learn. Your family is important to you and your… poise, I think, it’s part of who you are, your pride, and I want all of you, I love all of you, I’m not picking and choosing when it comes to you, Draco.”

Those were a lot of words and Draco wished he could have registered all of them, but there were only three in his mind now.

“You love me then?”

Luna chuckled that dreamy siren laugh that warmed up his heart every time.

“Of course.”

“Say it.” He whispered, and right now he didn’t care that he was begging, because he needed to know that it was real.

“I love you, no riddles.”

It felt like his heart had swollen in his chest, and Draco knew he should be focusing on the matter at hand, soothing her and reassuring her, but his mind couldn’t produce a single helpful thought, filled as it was with the sound of those words and their meaning. There was no holding back the smile coming to his face, and his lips only managed a transported whisper before Luna stepped up to kiss him.

“This is amazing.”

“Please, have a seat.” Draco indicated the sofa to his parents, lifting a tray of buttery biscuits from the coffee table of the drawing room. “Biscuits?”

He knew that conversations like that, important conversations, were better had on a full stomach, but he’d rather have the time to discuss the matter thoroughly before Luna woke up, so Poppy’s heavenly baked treats would have to suffice for now.

“Is anything the matter?” Maman inquired, eyeing the offering suspiciously.

Draco took a deep breath. No riddles.

“Yes, something is the matter,” he looked up into her eyes. “Maman, don’t take this for aggression but I must be direct, your staring and making faces is making Luna uncomfortable and now she thinks she has offended you and is much grieved by that.”

Maman had the grace to look ashamed.

“I’m sorry, I assume… well, she did put her feet up on the chair at dinner, and then stretched herself over the table to pick the salt, like we wouldn’t have handed it to her if she had asked.”

Draco rubbed his temple.

“Yes, and she also, for the first time ever since I’ve known her, wore a dress instead of a t-shirt and denim, but you didn’t notice that, did you?”

Maman blushed.

“It was a… charming dress.”

“No riddles, Maman, none of us has had breakfast yet.”

She sighed, flustered.

“Draco, she seems lovely, true, in my heart I know she’d be beautiful if she had someone to advise her, but she’s so odd.”

On the other hand, perhaps having that conversation before breakfast had been a terrible idea, after all.

“Merlin, I wish you didn’t look so much like my father when you make that face.” Papa, who had chosen to remain silent so far, pointed out. “Your mother doesn’t mean it maliciously but surely you’ve noticed it yourself.”

Draco sighed, picking up a biscuit from the tray.

“If I told you how many Hogwarts students have parents that are as closely related as you are, you might be surprised. Have you considered that we may be as foreign to her as she seems to you? It’s half past seven in the morning and we’re wearing pressed cotton shirts to stay home, Maman, you’re wearing a full face of makeup.” He pointed out.

“This is our way.” Papa defended.

“And that is hers, please don’t suggest our way is the best there is.” He warned, and silence stretched, heavy with the uncomfortable past he had hinted at. “Luna is the way she is, and I find her more beautiful in that David Bowie t-shirt than any Sacred heiress in silk and lace. She doesn’t hold who we are against us, so let’s all agree to extend her the same courtesy, shall we? That includes staring and making faces, Maman, and Papa, she may not have registered your comment on her undertaking muggle studies but I did, and, frankly, you’re not so old yet that you can’t open up your mind.”

He bit into his biscuit, giving his parents time to respond.

“Well, I assume we have narrowed our worldview, in a way, we’ve lived among the same circle ever since we were children,” Maman considered. “Perhaps this season travelling across Europe will do us some good.”

“There’s much to be learned out there.” Draco encouraged, some of the tension leaving his shoulders.

He knew his parents were set in their ways, they were used to things being like that, and he had to recognise the effort they were making in stepping outside what they had known all their lives and considering another point of view.

“I’m not asking you to change your entire way of living, I certainly do not intend on wearing t-shirts stamped with muggle bands.” He reassured them. “All I’m asking you to do is to consider other perspectives with an open mind.”

There was a beat of silence as the words sunk in, in which Draco could hear the larks on the garden outside.

“We wouldn’t think less of you if you wore those… muggle band t-shirts.” Maman pointed out, and his lips parted in a smile.

“I know, Maman,” he tugged at the cuffs of his shirt, the words sorting themselves in his head as he said them. “But I don’t have to change for Luna, and Luna doesn’t have to change for me, that’s how it is for us.”

Papa looked at him as if trying to read his mind, and Draco held his gaze as he added.

“I’m a Malfoy, and that means more than just my name.”

“Even now?” Papa inquired.

“More than ever.” He replied without a moment’s hesitation. “Blood supremacy and titles maintained by violence out of the way, I love this house, this estate, the memories of decorating the tree for Yuletide and dancing in the Beltane feasts, our traditions – some of them, at least. Even when I was at my most miserable, I’ve always been genuinely happy to have been born into this family.”

Papa clenched his jaw, looking away with a sharp nod, in what Draco guessed was an attempt not to let his emotions show.

“Bella always said we loved you too much,” Maman smiled, blinking twice. “She said it would make you soft, but I think it made you wiser than any of us.”

Draco reached over the table, taking her hand in his. He hadn’t been expecting the conversation to head this way, but, in a way, was happy that it did. They all had been grappling with what it meant to be a Malfoy on the aftermath of the war, but the family motto came to him now with a sudden realization, Sanctimonia Vincet Semper was often translated as “Purity Will Always Prevail”, yet, there was a closer translation to that, “Sanctity Will Always Prevail”, and Draco was rather sure there was nothing holier than that unrestricted love they had for one another.

“Do you think professor Lovegood, Luna, can comprehend our ways?” Papa’s voice brought him back from his reflections, and he let go of Maman’s hand to face his father directly.

“There’s nothing Luna cannot comprehend if someone explains it to her, which is not to say she’ll agree or adopt our way of life, but she’s naturally eager to understand everything.” He smiled for a moment, without noticing, before lifting his eyes to meet Papa’s gaze again. “Are you willing to understand her?”

Papa nodded solemnly and Maman reached out to take his hand again, making Draco look back at her.

“Anything she wants to learn, she can ask of me, otherwise I’ll keep my thoughts to myself, and try to observe her with an open mind, we both will.” She leaned back on the couch, taking her hand to Papa’s arm. “We’re not yet too old to learn.”

Chapter Text

Music flowed down the hallways, not Bach or Rachmaninoff, but something distinctively more… modern, and vaguely familiar. Draco shot his father a side glance and Lucius Malfoy quirked one eyebrow, smirking.

“That’s fascinating!” Luna’s airy call carried her enthusiasm, and Draco couldn’t help smiling.

“Well, I quite like what they’ve done with it.” Maman’s voice followed suite.

Draco rushed after Papa, letting the sounds lead them to the drawing room where Maman was sitting at the piano with Luna standing by her side, and the sight of his mother holding the muggle iPod to her ear made his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline.

“Narcissa Black Malfoy, is that jazz I’m hearing?” Papa drawled, amused. “What would Druella say if she could see you right now?”

Maman chuckled, turning on the stool, face flushed like she had been caught in wrongdoing.

“Oh, Lucius.” She ran her scrutinizing gaze over the two dishevelled wizards. “Did you have to fight your way here? You certainly look discomposed, Draco.”

Draco looked down at his state of disarray, sleeves rolled up and the top half of his shirt unbuttoned, and then back at her, before his gaze caught Luna’s hinted smile, making him run his hair back from his already hot face.

“It’s sweltering outside.” The casual reply sounded almost like an apology, he could only imagine how cross she was at the two of them for showing up in her drawing room looking like that.

“Unbearable,” Papa endorsed, struggling to lift his long hair off his nape. “As usual, the two of you had the right idea.”

The witches, smarter than them, had declined the offer for an early morning walk around the property, and Draco had been joined by Papa only, the two men breaking the comfortable silence with eventual comments about the property and the plans Papa had for it once their finances recovered. They had become so engrossed in the imagined endeavour that the thought of returning to the manor only occurred to them once the sun was already too high.

“Here,” Luna offered, pulling the pencil from her hair and extending it towards Papa.

He hesitated only a moment before accepting the offer.

“How do you do it?”

“Hook and twist, it’s very intuitive.” Luna demonstrated the movement with a flick of her wrist.

Papa tried to emulate it, managing a rudimentary version of Luna’s signature hairstyle, and Draco stepped up to the piano, under the guise of reading the score, to keep from laughing at the absurd scene.

“Intuitive, indeed, the geniality in simplicity. Thank you, Luna.”

“Any time.” Draco risked a look and saw her showing that open smile of hers, bright as stars, and the impulse to laugh was substituted for the unfiltered warmth of joy spreading over his chest and making him return her smile in kind.

“What were the two of you up to?” Papa asked, and Draco checked the scores that, indeed, had nothing to do with what Maman had been playing.

“Visiting some variations of Pachelbel’s canon,” Maman replied, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I was telling Luna about my rebellious teenage years.”

“Jazz instead of the classics, quite the scandal,” Papa said gravely, but the effect was dulled by the smirk on his face. “Druella was mortified.”

“Poor Maman, I wasn’t at all kind on her nerves,” she reminisced, looking away at nothing. “But of course Andy had to outdo me.”

“I’m dying for a glass of orange juice, do you think we still have oranges?” Draco intervened before that fun and sweet conversation could derail into unkind comments about Tonks’ parentage.

It worked, and Maman, trained to host from the moment she could hold her own bottle, refocused on his question, calling Poppy in and confirming, to their collective chagrin, that there were no oranges in the house.

“Poppy can procure them at once, my lady.” The house elf looked anxious, as if the lack of oranges was somehow her fault.

“We can go to the muggle village nearby and get them,” Luna suggested, her hand blissfully cool on his skin. “And get some ice cream too.”

His parents stared at them and exchanged the least subtle glance they possibly could.

“That sounds… adventurous.” Maman offered, a hand searching for the comfort of her necklace, and Draco felt tempted to bash his own head against the bookshelf by the piano.

“Too adventurous for us, but there’s a charming old church there, I reckon.” Papa suggested, fixing his eyes on Luna as if he was considering legilimency. “The two of you might find it… worth visiting, perhaps, don’t you think, Cissy?”

Maman, who had been pointedly staring at Luna’s hold on Draco’s arm, snapped out of it.

“That sounds like a great idea, darling.”

By Merlin.

Luna looked puzzling at Draco, and he tried to convey, through his eyes, that he had no idea either than considering a visit to a muggle village would be enough to break his parents.

“Great, yes,” Papa nodded firmly. “Perhaps the Pencil of Ravenclaw is bringing something up.”

Luna chuckled at that house-related jest, but Papa’s eyes were pinned to Draco’s.

“Great, we can apparate-”

“You should change.” Maman interrupted, looking pointedly at his shirt.

Draco hesitated for a moment.

“I’ll just change then,” he squeezed Luna’s hand over his forearm before stepping away, shooting both of his parents a look heavy with the plea to try to behave for all of ten minutes.

It was only when Luna’s hand slid from his arm that he realized that the reason behind their shock had nothing to do with the suggestion of visiting a muggle village, Draco had gotten so used to her touch by now that he didn’t even pay attention to which arm she was holding on to, and with the sleeve rolled up – Maman had probably commented on his state to bring his attention to it – her hand had been directly over the Mark.

He met Papa’s eyes again, rolling down the sleeve with a minute shrug, as if to tell him it didn’t matter. In truth, he detested the thing and tried to keep it covered for the most part, but Luna didn’t care one way or another, and had even, on one occasion, defaced it with a muggle instrument called sharpie.

Changing took Draco just over seven minutes, in an effort not to leave his parents unsupervised around Luna for too long, and he found the trio in the same room where he had left them, only now Maman was on her feet demonstrating something while Papa read by the window, still wearing Luna’s pencil.

“[…] uncommonly gracious, it’s a crime that no one has instructed you, really.”

Seven minutes. It had taken seven minutes for Maman to once again succumb to her fever of turning Luna into a proper Sacred lady.

“Are you ready?” He asked, interrupting whatever was happening with a pointed look at his mother.

“Oh, that was fast.” Luna smiled at him, and his annoyance melted away.

“I’m an efficient man.” Draco smirked, offering her his arm and shooting Maman a last glare to let her know he was well aware of her scheming.

Maman, of course, wasn’t even remotely fazed by that.

“Do bring her back before dinner, we’ll go over the basics of waltzing.”

He couldn’t help a scoff, narrowing his eyes at the older witch.

“Whose mother are you, again?”

She performed the distinctive Black eyeroll, waving him off, and Draco chuckled as he took Luna out of the room, waiting until they were out of earshot to speak to her again.

“You can tell her if she’s being too much, I assure you, she will survive.”

Her chiming laugh made him smile reflexively.

“I love dancing, Draco.”

That she did. He relented, guiding them out of the Manor and down the way towards the nearest muggle village. Even apparating halfway, it was somewhat of a long walk under an unrelenting sun, but he was glad of it, if only for the chance to spend some time alone with her. The week was almost at the end now, Luna would be going back to her family home for a couple of days before joining the Weasleys for a short time, after which he had no idea of her plans.

Beautiful images of the Mediterranean and the nostalgic charm English Chanel kept pushing their way to the front of his mind, but every time Draco thought he might gather the courage to ask her, something happened that made him hold his tongue, which was ridiculous, everything was finally going well, what better moment to invite her to the seaside?

Everything was finally going well, what if he ruined it all?

They walked into the village itself, and he let Luna guide him around by the hand, she had much more experience circulating in the muggle world with its deadly cars and daring display of skin, perfectly integrated in her Queen t-shirt and jeans while Draco, in his dress shirt and trousers, looked as natural as a turtle on a tree.

Yet, he was too intrigued to mind too much, the stores lining the streets displayed all sorts of goods, some familiar, like books and muggle clothes, and some completely alien to him, like rotating blades that promised to alleviate the heat with a gust of wind but looked like death machines.

It was only as he watched Luna examine a display rich in band t-shirts that it occurred to Draco – to his horror – that he had no muggle coin with him.

Before he could say anything, she dragged the two of them into the ice cream parlour next door and headed straight to the display.

“Good morning!” A bubbly muggle teenager greeted them with a smile. “What can I get you today?”

Luna didn’t even think, like Draco knew she wouldn’t.

“Two scoops of strawberry, please, and…” She turned to Draco expectantly.

Merlin, think, think.

“I’m fine.”

She tilted her head.

“Do you have orange juice?”

Damn it.

“Freshly pressed.” The muggle teen nodded proudly.

“Then I’ll have a glass as well.”

The boy took their orders and Luna led them to a table just outside the shop. Draco worked his brain for a moment, the gentleman in him appalled at the idea of letting a woman pay for anything while she was in his company.

That would be a certified disgrace to the Malfoy name, the portraits would spit on him from their frames up high.

“Do you think I can apparate from the restroom and back? I don’t have any muggle money on me.” He finally asked in a mortified whisper.

It was a muggle shop, surely it wouldn’t be warded against apparitions, would it?

Luna just shrugged.

“It’s alright, I have a credit card.”

How she could possibly have credit in a shop she had never been to, he couldn’t fathom, perhaps one of the many mysteries of the muggle world, he guessed, like telephones and airplanes, but at least Draco could set the bill on her credit later, so there would be no wound to his male pride and family name.

Though perhaps he should acquire some muggle coin before they went on vacations together, his witch was clearly enjoying mingling with the muggles, her perceptive eyes following them with that kindness-tinted curiosity that was natural to her, and he could picture her doing just that in a little ice cream parlour in Corsica, with the Mediterranean stretching up to the horizon, the hot French breeze stirring her hair.

Draco shifted in his seat, and her moonlit eyes turned from the late-goth church back to him.

“What’s on your mind?”

He tugged at the cuffs of his shirt, knowing there was no use in trying to throw her off scent and bracing himself for whatever her reply may be.

“I was thinking… Summer is only starting, and it would be… wouldn’t it be a bit of a waste to spend it all in one place?”

She nodded, resting her elbow on the table and using her hand to support that charming pointed chin.

“Do you want to travel?” Luna intuited.

“Yes!” He replied enthusiastically, before realising she hadn’t said anything about travelling together. “I… Have you ever been to the Côte D’Azur?”

Luna frowned, shaking her head.

“That sounds French. I’ve never left the UK.”

For a moment he was too surprised to even remember his nerves.

“Never?”

The boy chose that moment to come out with their orders, setting the bowl of strawberry ice cream before Luna and the tall glass of juice before him, and they both thanked them simultaneously.

“You’re welcome.” The muggle kid stepped back, eyeing them curiously. “How are you liking the town?”

His witch showed the boy a charming smile that had the effect of instantly colouring him red, a development that, although expected, had Draco feeling less than amiable towards him.

“It’s lovely, I had wanted to visit for some time and my boyfriend was craving orange juice, so it seemed like a perfect moment.” Her gaze flicked to him for a moment before turning back to the muggle boy. “What do you suggest we do?”

There had been a couple of times when Draco had thought he was going to die. When Potter hit him with that nasty cutting curse was one, and then again when he got caught in the Room of Requirement in the middle of the fiendfyre inferno.

Well, now there was a third time.

Luna and the boy were carrying on a short conversation he couldn’t possibly follow, their voices muffled under the sound of his thundering heartbeat and his thoughts, or rather, the one thought that kept looping in his mind and that consisted entirely of Luna’s voice calling him her boyfriend.

It was a claim, a claim to him, a public claim, he was Luna Lovegood’s boyfriend.

“Draco?” His girlfriend’s voice cut through his thoughts and Draco realized he was grinning like the lovesick fool that he was for that woman.

“Do you want to go to Corsica?” He asked bluntly. “With me, I mean. I thought of taking you to Corsica. Or it could be Truro if you’d rather, but you said you’ve never been outside the UK and the Mediterranean is lovely to look at, but it could be Truro too, we have a holiday house there that my parents won’t be using, so if you want we can go. You don’t have to choose, either, we can go to Corsica and Truro if you’d like. Together?”

Draco added the last word like an afterthought, quite out of breath, hoping she could make any sense of his blabbering, and his Luna beamed at him.

“Corsica sounds nice. And Truro, is that in Italy?”

“Cornwall.” He breathed out.

“Oh, fantastic.” Luna’s eyes sparkled. “No riddles about both? I don’t think I can make up my mind.”

“Not one bloody riddle.” He found himself mirroring her smile.

Luna took a spoonful of her ice cream, her luminous eyes still set on his, and Draco was quite sure that if he tried to drink the juice now he’d choke to a most undignified death.

“We can schedule it right after I come back from the Burrow.” Luna mused. “If that works for you.”

It would be the longest two weeks of his life, but he’d brave them if only for the knowledge that he’d get to be with her, just the two of them, in the loveliest of places, and he’d get to hold her hand and hear her introduce him to people as her boyfriend.

Merlin, he hoped they met everyone there, if only so that he heard those words again and again, in English and French, and hopefully Draco would be able to introduce her as his girlfriend without going up in flames of elation.

“This is amazing.” He heard himself breathing out.

“It’s the best summer of my life,” Luna sighed dreamily in between spoons of strawberry ice cream. “I hope the Weasleys don’t kick me out, I’m not sure I will be able to talk about anything else.”

“Do the Weasleys know?” The question was voiced somewhere between smugness and caution.

“That we’re dating?” She cocked her lovely head as if the words weren’t imperilling his cardiac health. “Yes. Ginny asked to be spared the details then got mad at me for doing exactly that and said she wanted all the details, but I told her you’re too dignified, though I plan on pretending to consider just to see Harry threaten to obliviate himself.”

Draco let out a bark of laughter at her unexpected malice.

“Planning on tormenting Potter? Looks like I’m rubbing off on you, Loony.”

She showed him a perfect copy of a Malfoy smirk.

“I could reply with some innuendo, but that would be uncouth.”

He laughed harder, his face heating up.

“Merlin, I love you, you know that?”

“I do.” Her reply was too sweet to be smug, there were no riddles there, and Draco felt his heart swell in genuine happiness with the knowledge that Luna was aware that she was loved, his mind popping with ideas of all the ways he wanted to prove it to her again and again just so that she wouldn’t forget, just because he could.

He’d take her to every place she had never been to, buy her all the band t-shirts and denim her heart desired, the best paints for her to decorate their little sitting room exactly to her taste.

“You know people will say you’ve lost your mind, right?” She teased, and Draco realized he had been staring at her over his untouched juice.

Some people would surely think so, he knew he could expect very confused letters from Pansy and Theo, but he’d make them understand, and anyone who didn’t could go watch the ocean dry while waiting for him to care.

“They’d be right then, though not for the reasons they may assume.”

Luna, his girlfriend, smiled warmly at him, and only then the thought occurred to Draco that she might very well deal with a similar pressure, only worse, because it would be actually warranted.

“Did anyone tell you that?” He asked quietly, looking around to make sure no one was paying them much attention. “Because of… my past?”

Luna shrugged.

“Ron did, I told him he had a head full of nargles.”

Draco frowned.

“Nargles?”

His girlfriend smiled mischievously.

“A joke I made back in fourth year that everyone took way too seriously and I was having too much fun to correct them.” She explained. “I don’t care what people think, but I know you do.”

“Not when it comes to you, I don’t.” Draco replied instantly, stirring his juice as he sorted through his words. “I mean, I’d be furious if anyone was unkind to you, but for your sake, rather than my own, I don’t want people to speak ill of you because I don’t want you to be hurt, and not for any preoccupation about how it might reflect on me, because from where I stand, being associated with you, having you claim me as your boyfriend, is an honour far above me that I can only strive to be worthy of.”

That was putting it mildly. Draco was dying to hold her hand when they walked around the castle and tell McGonagall to pay up what she owed Flitwick because he, Draco Malfoy, was Luna Lovegood’s boyfriend. He wanted to teach her the words in French so that she could introduce him as hers to everyone they met, he wanted to shake Xenophilius Lovegood’s hand and assure him that he’d always act respectfully and honourably towards Luna.

“I don’t know how to make the words beautiful like you do.” Luna’s face was coloured the loveliest pink, and her eyes glittered like stars. “I wish I did, because you deserve all the beautiful words, but I can only tell it my way: I have never been drawn to anyone the way I’m drawn to you, body, mind, heart, you’re fascinating, and everything I learn about you makes me love you more, even when I think I cannot possibly. You’ve always been beautiful, but then there’s your sharp mind, stunningly fast to analyse and catalogue, and your kindness, and your sense of humour, and all the love in you, so much of it, for your family, your home, and I love you even more for it.”

He extended his hand over the table and laced his fingers through hers, his mind at a loss for words, in that way that only Luna could make him. Kindness and love were things Draco would never have expected anyone to associate with him, but she did, she saw him completely, and it made him feel warm in a way he had never dreamt possible.

The sight of their joined hands reflecting the brightness of early July felt like something holy and ineffable, supernatural, and yet material enough to reassure him it was real, and Draco vowed to himself to always remember it, when he put the Malfoy heirloom ring on that hand, when they held a child, on the thousands of times they passed the stirring rod between them as they grew old and spotted, he’d always remember that moment, and he’d always remember how it all started.